


The Relic

by Chaldenea



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bossy Dovahkiin, Dawnguard DLC, Developing Relationship, Dragonborn DLC, F/M, Hammerfell (Elder Scrolls), Miraak Lives (Elder Scrolls), Miraak's past, Slow Burn, Some Fluff, Soulmates, Team Bonding, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:48:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24096856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaldenea/pseuds/Chaldenea
Summary: The Dragonborn frees Miraak to find a relic of unknown origin and power. The more she finds out about it, the more she realises how dangerous it could be in the wrong hands.Meanwhile, Miraak is questioning whether he can ever achieve a free will or if he’s merely destined to be someone’s pawn.
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Miraak
Comments: 2
Kudos: 59





	1. Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> First time I actually grow the balls to post something so please bear with me. I might not update regularly but I hope you'll enjoy the read anyways :)

Her body ached as much as she expected. Judging by the position of the sun in the sky—ah. Of course, she had forgotten how gloomy the weather of Solstheim was. The air was filled with cold ash that whirled around in circles around her; she barely managed to shield her eyes from the wind.

It would have been way too easy for them to return to anything but a storm.

Callisto cursed under her breath, glancing over to Miraak’s still body on the ground not too far from her. She stomped towards him, the strong currents of air and loose ash on the ground challenging her balance with each step.

“Miraak,” she barked. The mask covering the lower part of her face muffled her voice to the point it was almost completely lost in the wind, so she decided to shake him roughly instead.

No response. Her hands clawed the robes on his shoulders, the fabric creeping up between her fingers.

She wondered how long it would take him to wake up; if he was going to in the first place. This fellow spent an eternity in Oblivion.

The Dragonborn wasn’t going to sit around to find out. Grabbing him underneath his arms, she pulled his torso up to the point he could be dragged back to her temporary camp near the coast. It turned out to be a rather difficult task—the man was massive, and she had been very exhausted from their unnecessary little fight of stubbornness.

“I should have left you to rot in there,” she spat, huffing as she tucked him along. The good thing about the storm was that she wouldn’t need to cover the tracks his legs left on the ground after.

Nothing would make him wake up. She checked his stomach to see if he was even breathing. His robes rose and fell very slowly at a time but it appeared to be with a consistent rhythm, which was a good sign at least.

Callisto glanced down to her wounded arms and scowled as she realised how little it hurt. It must have been the shock that drugged her body with adrenaline; that only meant it was about to run out and make her feel almost as dead as Miraak looked.

With a groan, she leaned back onto the pelts she had placed on the floor and looked up at the top of her tent dancing with the wild wind.

Miraak would have to wake up sooner or later. And he’d better be cooperative or else.

* * *

Ash puffs up with each step his heavy boots take. He observes as it dissembles into thinner dust until it dissolves in the air, the heavier bits leaving a thin trail behind them as they land back on the ground, rolling down the uneven hills of dirt between Trama Root. Miraak leans down to pick up some of the ash again, letting it settle between the creases of his glove, painting it the dull grey of Solstheim’s land. It’s so light it doesn’t feel perceivable.

Oh, but it truly looks so beautiful, like pulverized silver that makes its twinkle reflect in his own eyes.

He pulls off his glove to pick up some more ash, but he stops as soon as he notices how pale his skin is. His hand turns upwards, the palm facing his enchanted mask. He barely recognises it as his own—this light doesn’t come from the atrocious skies of Apocrypha, it comes from Aetherius, and so it paints the palm of his hand the reddish colour it is supposed to be, the reddish colour it once held permanently.

Peeking between his outstretched fingers, he looks up at the sky. The real sky he has not seen with his own eyes in millennia, the sky he stood underneath as Vahlok swore to jail him for eternity during their intense battle of magic. It mostly lacks colour on one side, and the other side is set on fire by the remains of Mundus approaching the waves that mock its outlines as they move in their perpetual dance of forces in the distance.

He watches the water carrying itself to the coast he’s standing on and waits. He waits for the thick air to hit him with its salty smell of multifaceted life. But the heavy breeze never reaches him; he merely hears the sound of his surroundings, muffled by the thin cloth that holds Miraak in place. As he reaches up to take the mask off, he stops as he notices something in the corner of his eye.

He sees something akin to a small camp consisting of a single tent made of dust-coated, red linen and some burnt firewood in front of it, neatly set up in a small cone surrounded by rocks holding its coals and ashes together. He approaches the tent.

A woman leaves it right before he gets to push its entrance aside, and he keeps his arm in the air, frozen in place. It strikes him when she doesn’t seem to notice his presence, which motivates him to move to her side. He regards the loose strands of her hair getting lifted by the unperceivable wind and once again wishes he could sense it on his own skin.

As he opens his mouth to speak, he hears her exhale heavily after studying their surroundings. She mumbles some curses as she makes her way back to the tent with brusque steps.

Miraak blinks a few times with a crease between his brows. The woman’s armour seemed rather familiar.

Glancing towards the linen, he sees boots much like his, lying on the floor. He walks towards them and gasps when the sight becomes clear: it is his own body, resting right there in front of him, unmoving were it not for the slow breaths making his chest rise ever so slightly.

…Dragonborn.

It is the Dragonborn standing next to him.

* * *

Stirring her simmering stew, she glanced over to Miraak’s unmoving form. It had been days and he still hadn’t shown any sign of being awake. How could his body keep going like that? After all, if her studies had been right, he must have spent multiple thousands of years in Apocrypha, where it didn’t require any food or water.

And now, he was back on Nirn.

Callisto furrowed her brows. The smell of slightly burnt rabbit meat made her look down, and she gasped softly at how harshly her food was sizzling in her small pan.

“You want some?” she asked, shoving a spoon into her mouth whilst eyeing him. “It’s going to get cold, you know.”

This was rather boring. Callisto rested her head on a spare hand.

“Oh no, please take your time. I’ve always hated Skyrim anyways, and I love breathing in ashes daily.”

Miraak’s arm twitched slightly as a response.

“You’ll need to do a lot more of that in order for us to be able to leave,” she then deadpanned, pointing at him with her spoon.

The Dragon priest’s hands balled up into a fist. Callisto stopped chewing her stew and the grip on her spoon grew weak to the point she almost dropped it. She sat up so fast her little stool tipped back, landing on the loose ashes with a dull thud.

Miraak groaned slightly. His chest rose with a sharp breath.

The sight was eerie—as if she was witnessing the resurrection of a body through a spell nobody had casted.

She ran to his side, holding up a dagger to ready herself in case he’d lost his mind completely and would go for another ridiculous attack on her.

Right then, his mask annoyed her more than ever. “Speak,” she commanded, her tone low.

He raised his hand slightly, fingers widely spread in the space between them.

“Dovahkiin,” he coughed out, the pain it caused being clearly visible in the abrupt movement of his entire body.

She watched him struggle with an attempt to get up. Her hand seemed to move on its own, holding his shoulder to offer support to the point he could sit up. His torso vibrated with shudders and she could feel and hear how his breaths came out in small, choked back huffs.

“Go slowly, you moron!” Callisto said as she looked around for her flask of fresh water.

He murmured something in response, but the contempt in his tone wasn’t lost on her. She was going to have to convince herself that rescuing him was the right decision.


	2. Distrust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit, 29/09/2020:  
> I have updated this and the following chapters to match the plot better in the future, mostly evening out some illogical events/statements. If you have read this story before today, I advise you re-read it just to avoid confusion later on. Have fun!

The Dragonborn had decided to lead them back to Raven Rock, which already bothered him. The fact that she had the audacity to tell him where to go on his own island made his blood boil, but his energy felt too limited to fight over it.

He watched tongues of icy air lick off the layers of snow that formed atop the trees of Solstheim’s dark tundra on the far mountains. Most of his close surroundings was covered in ashes and rocks, with the occasional burnt remains of trees spouting up between them. Some scathecraw brushed against his robes.

He wondered what this exact spot used to look like before his time in Apocrypha.

Some strands of her ginger hair reached out towards him from behind her narrow hood, the brightness of her hair striking a strong contrast to the dull colour of the ash around them.

His eyes roamed to his surroundings again, observing the distant cloud behind the mountain rocks creeping up on them, engulfing half of the otherwise blue sky. Miraak lifted his mask to breathe in the fresh air that came with it, filling his lungs with the crisp scent of the tundra.

He relished the cold biting his skin, tingling his nerves and freezing his nose. After holding his breath for a few short moments, he slowly exhaled.

Miraak noticed how tense he had been feeling; his limbs felt stiffer and stiffer. Was it the effect of being out in the cold?

“We’re going to reach Raven Rock tomorrow if you keep that pace up,” the Dragonborn mocked as she looked at him from behind her hood, her pace remaining steady. His brows creased up as he narrowed his eyes at her expectant stare.

He shouldn’t have been following the Dragonborn in that exact moment to begin with.

He enjoyed the freedom, yes. But the chance of it being unconditional seemed so far from being a possibility that Miraak couldn’t help but think it had involved a deal with Hermaeus Mora. The fact that they were both alive, walking freely with no mass of tentacles and eyes appearing in front of them seemed surreal, especially if he remembered his last moments on Nirn correctly.

The Dovahkiin also hadn’t mentioned how she managed to drag them both out, so far—not like there had been a lot of dialogue between the two, with her mostly trying to get him back on his feet. So he could follow her.

“Tell me where we are headed, first,” Miraak demanded, stopping.

“We are taking a ship back to Skyrim. And they aren’t planning on waiting on us, you know.” The Dragonborn kept walking, which bothered him even more than her tone.

Miraak sighed. Exhaustion ruled more and more over his muscles. Simply standing there and not losing balance was starting to drain him; it felt like he had been moving through slick honey. How long had he been feeling that way?

He couldn’t quite recall how he woke up in detail. He merely hoped that his memory would come back soon enough; it felt like an irresistible itch that wasn’t satisfied, especially if it had the potential of giving him an answer to why he was back on Nirn.

He tried to catch up with the Dovahkiin’s pace, his legs getting harder and harder to move.

Muffled voices flew through the wind, and Miraak tried to focus more heavily on the guards talking to them as they approached Raven Rock’s outer walls.

He felt something brush his arm and looked down, promptly losing balance as his head suddenly weighed too much to bear and falling onto the ashy rocks of the road. His breathing slowed like someone had stepped upon his chest.

Hands grabbed his shoulders to turn him onto his back as his hearing grew weaker and weaker, until he embraced complete loss of energy and gave in to sleep.

* * *

Miraak opened his eyes. Something was crackling around him. In an attempt to sit up, he noticed how much his muscles protested and he groaned with exhaustion, immediately falling back the little distance his body had risen. With the assistance of his weak arms, he slowly but surely managed to roll over in his bed. His feet slowly landed on the wooden floor.

Ah, how peculiar it was to feel with his bare feet. He could feel the dust coat his soles, the small splinters stinging the sensitive area between his toes, the hard and scratchy texture of the planks cooling his skin. Miraak looked down for a short moment, rocking his feet back and forth to listen to the wood faintly reacting to the movement.

It was hard to focus on anything; his vision stayed blurry, and he narrowed his eyes at an attempt to sharpen his view. The source of crackling had turned out to be a fire, whose flames mocked his blinded eyes, dancing as they tested his focus. As his eyes travelled further, he saw his golden boots neatly put up against the wall.

Miraak furrowed his brows.

“Easy now, Dragonborn,” a voice called from the door, the tone instantly striking as a bad imitation of his own. Miraak turned around to watch her figure, scowling deeper as pain crept into his head—it felt as if his eyeballs were stabbing his head every time he moved them.

The Dragonborn’s walk barely made the wooden planks creak with every soft step she took. He observed her shoulders; her movement right then wasn’t very different from how she had moved in battle, he remembered. It held the same amount of fluidity and grace in her muscles. Her armour had been replaced with a simple white tunic that flowed with momentum as she approached his bed; its absence of weight made her walk seem lighter as well.

Despite her sneaky strut, her demeanour appeared rather aggressive. It made sense—this woman was Dragonborn, and the Dov he vividly sensed within her body was visible in every detail, no matter how much of a stealthy skeever she might have been.

Her eyes seemed constantly bothered and her brows seemed to be in a permanent state of furrowing, unless it was replaced by one of surprise, like when Miraak used his thu’um to cut her off in the middle of a sentence before their fight had started at the summit of Apocrypha.

He recalled that moment fondly.

“I assume you want to take a bath—at least that’s what I would want, having wasted away in my own filth for thousands of years in Oblivion.” Even her crooked smirk seemed aggressive; it showed her feeling of superiority, which was a self-image they both shared.

“Now, you don’t have to thank me yet.” She raised a hand to couple her sarcastic tone with a feigned gesture.

The ache in his dry throat signalled him not to speak up yet, and he realised he was longing for water badly.

“I am sure you’re grateful that I’ve saved your life,” she then added after his lack of verbal response, letting her words sink in with another brief pause. “The bath tub is waiting for you in the next room. Meet me downstairs once you’re finished.”

And with that, she stood up, patting his shoulder shortly—Miraak refrained from shaking her hand off—before walking out of the room.

The shameful situation of being in her care and it giving her an opportunity to take control wasn’t lost on him. Her commanding tone stirred up anger in him. First the leading the road back to Skyrim on Solstheim of all places, and now this.

He had no trust in her whatsoever; he knew she was capable of hiding knowledge and manipulating people easily as he had observed her actions from Apocrypha.  
But her amateur silver-tongue wasn’t going to work on him with the sheer amount of years he had on top of her experience.

His mind drifted back to when he woke up in her tent, and he focused hard on trying to recall what happened.

All he could think of was ash on his glove. And the sky during a sunset, maybe? His head started to hurt the more he tried to remember.

The former dragon priest stood up with a huff, the blood in his legs having returned to keeping his muscles strong enough to carry his weight. He bit down the soaring pain he felt with each step as he made his way out of the room.

* * *

The water was perfectly still, the only sign of its presence beinf steam rising from behind the edges of the wooden tub. He held his hand over it for a few seconds, running his fingers over the palm of his hand when droplets of water formed on his skin. The warm moisture made the air around him feel cool as it dried up again; his body was slowly adjusting to feeling heat again. This water felt nothing like the tarry, temperatureless bubbles of blackness he had attempted to drown himself in multiple times in Apocrypha.

He shook his head once shortly.

He let himself get submerged in the hot bath, sharply inhaling through his teeth as it bit his cold limbs. There was no sound here, and the atmosphere it created made him feel relieved. He splashed some of the water in his face, his hands rubbing his tired eyes.

It seemed surreal how…empty his mind was. Not only had his soul been freed from Oblivion physically, the escape also freed his mind from having to be trapped in an eternal struggle, trying to find a plan to return to Nirn.

But now, the only thing on his mind was how the Dragonborn had managed to free them.

“Enough of that,” he murmured to himself, letting his head rest on the border of the tub. He closed his eyes and took few deep breaths in an attempt to relax again and let his worries get absorbed by the hot water, even if just for the moment.

* * *

The night sky was guarded by Secunda and Masser, both surrounded by tiny spots of Aetherius twinkling through a green veil that reached into infinity. Miraak observed the canvas above him in silence. He had forgotten that it was this…impressive. The atmosphere it created woke something within him, making his dragon soul flare up. He felt a light breeze brush against his unmasked face and relished the cooler temperature reaching into his skin.

He had thought he was never going to see Skyrim again.

Though he still felt like it hadn’t fully settled in yet, like this was just a dream he would eventually wake up from—but then again, his dreams in Oblivion and the sensation of fresh breezes passing by or of torches radiating heat were nothing alike. He truly wanted to believe he was sitting on those steps, with no loose pages whirling around and seekers whose will he would have to keep suppressed to avoid being attacked.

The question about his freedom incessantly gnawed in the back of his mind. He felt like he didn’t belong, like the Dovahkiin should have been dead, just like he had planned.

“Tentacle priest,” a voice broke his thoughts. “We shouldn’t wait too long before planning ahead.” The Dragonborn sat down next to him. He grimaced at how close she was but refused to move away from his claimed spot.

“I cannot even fathom why I am here and you are talking about mutual plans.” He saw her eyebrow flinch as she blinked at him in confusion.

“You really don’t remember me dragging you out of there,” she realised out loud. Then the Dragonborn huffed and smirked, as if she had been waiting for him to tell her it was a joke. “I need you.”

As if he was ready to comply with anyone’s needs. “It might be best for you to forget about using me for anything,” he growled, staring her into the eyes.

She laughed, the sound resembling one of a drunken man’s. “Are you worried it’s going to be anything like having a deal with a Daedric prince locking you up?” Her eyes turned serious again. His lips twitched and he stood up, turning to her with his full body.

“Ah,” he began, “you are going to give me your word it will be nothing like it, I know.” He crossed his arms and balanced his weight on one foot, staring down at her. “Tell me how you managed to get us out of Apocrypha, Dragonborn.”

She stood up at an attempt to even out their rather noticeable height difference. “You will help me find a relic before Hermaeus Mora gets it.” Her eyes dared him to argue.

Miraak huffed at the way she dodged his question and he queried her manipulative talent at last.

“Foolish child. Do you truly believe he would not be able to take it from our grasp right after we found it? If we found it, that is.” He shook his head. “There is no escape from his eyes, especially not from the ones on you and me.”

Instead of helping her, he considered simply killing her. Given that she had probably made the deal of finding the relic in exchange for their freedom, it would mean that the task would merely be transferred onto his own shoulders the second she died, though.

To think that Mora would keep up his part of the bargain—the Dovahkiin was more naïve than Miraak initially thought.

Nonetheless, leaving her to get the relic by herself also sounded like a bad idea. It might have been of unknown magic that could turn her into a difficult problem he would have to deal with later on.

“I cannot leave you with the relic’s power all to yourself. If its potential is great enough for it to be of interest to Hermaeus Mora, we should not underestimate its importance,” he responded at last.

The Last nodded, putting a hand on his shoulder and he bit back a shudder.

“Good choice.” She smirked. “I have a map including most of the information I have managed to gather thus far.”

And so she went on to explain to him the possibilities of the relic’s reach, about its potential locations and people with useful knowledge about it.


	3. Leadership

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say, posting this really helped me write more regularly. It feels nice knowing that even just the few subscribers of you will have something to read :)
> 
> I did some research on sailing for this chapter, though I am not sure if it makes perfect sense to experts. Please keep that in mind.  
> 

“Be ready to leave at dawn tomorrow. We will meet up with Teldryn and Serana and discuss further plans,” Callisto slurred, hoping he wouldn’t start asking questions. Her alcohol tolerance wasn’t what it had used to be, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. The whole scavenger hunt for Black Books and fighting in Apocrypha hadn’t left much time to enjoy any alcohol at all.

Miraak merely stared at her, his head slightly tilted. His expressions were getting a bit easier to read, she noted. The pitch-black eyes weren’t hard to get used to in terms of aesthetics, but it truly showed how much one could read by looking into someone’s eyes.

Or, in this case, could not.

She wondered if he was aware of it and was using it to his advantage.

Probably not. She wasn’t going to underestimate his acumen, nonetheless.

“Now, I have heard of Serana,” the man started. “She was with you when I absorbed your dragon souls.” Miraak chuckled. “It was quite amusing to see her throw petty ice spikes at my ethereal form.”

Yes, very fun—

“Although I have never seen the mercenary with you,” Miraak then added.

Callisto huffed. “He joined later on; probably while you were too busy decorating the summit of Apocrypha with dragons,” she responded before taking another sip of mead from her tankard. His head followed her large movement, as if he was either shocked or disgusted—or both—by her slurping.

He looked silly with those eyes.

“It is interesting to see you drink to this extent knowing how early you are leaving tomorrow.”

Yes, it was definitely disgust.

“Yes, yes, old man,” Callisto spat back. “I am sure it is very interesting.” She stood up, spilling some mead in the process. She couldn’t be bothered to wipe it off the table and made her way up the stairs to her chambers.

* * *

The morning dew felt like a slap once they reached the outer gates of Whiterun. Oh, her alcohol tolerance really wasn’t what it had used to be.

Miraak seemed fine. Callisto wondered if he had gotten a good night’s rest—it was hard to tell with his mask on and his complete silence. But as long as he didn’t slow her down like last time, she was fine with it.

There might have been a touch of curiosity about how Serana was going to react seeing Miraak standing next to her. She had told her about her rescue plan, and the vampire wasn’t quite enthusiastic about it, but eventually accepted that it was out of her control.

She seemed a little afraid to challenge Callisto’s ideas sometimes, and though she enjoyed the trust in her leadership, it would have been nice to have someone to argue with every now and then. Maybe Miraak was going to be more fun to have around than expected.

Teldryn didn’t seem to care much. He was merely excited to see his patron come back every time she had explored Apocrypha. And come back she did, one last time.

Callisto saw the rest of her companions reach the meeting spot in the distance and nodded at them from afar. Serana’s expression was exactly like imagined.

Teldryn stopped her attempts at sneakily attacking Miraak from his back a few times.

They rode all the way to Falkreath, where Callisto had booked private rooms in the Dead Man’s Drink. She knew Valga wasn’t going to ask questions seeing anyone show up with a gigantic man wearing an odd squid-looking mask, as she had probably seen worse in her long time as an inn-owner.

They gathered in the largest room and Callisto pulled out a small map out of her satchel to place it onto a centred table, next to her open notebook with descriptions and explanations.

“I have marked relevant locations on here,” she started, pointing out the circles and writings on the paper. “Though we have a lot of work to do. Most people I asked were rather useless, but I noted down the things that coincided with their information. Take a look at what we currently have.”

Serana and Teldryn promptly studied the pages, whereas Miraak merely crossed his arms and stood back.

“Don’t be difficult,” Callisto warned him. His face turned to her direction, the golden light’s reflection of his mask shifting ever so slightly in the limited amount of light the candles produced. He remained silent.

“We will split up and complete our individual tasks before meeting up again to keep each other up to date,” Callisto then said.

And so each pairing set off towards their goal, exchanging small nods before parting.

* * *

“You want to talk?” Callisto suggested, sharpening an arrow. It had always seemed like a soothing task, and it was easy to converse in the meantime.

“About what?” Miraak asked, not moving in the slightest from the large stump he was sitting on. He observed her movements with focused interest.

“You seemed to have questions last night, when I told you about my plans.” She threw the finished arrow onto a pile and grabbed another used one to work on it.

Miraak didn’t hesitate. “Yes, and you sloppily dodged them.” His hostile tone angered her.

Callisto stood up, collecting the pile of sharpened arrows and putting them into her quiver. “I am sure you understand me already.”

Miraak huffed in response.

He most likely was smart enough to understand that Hermaeus Mora was listening at all times, which limited her capability of exposing her true plan to Miraak. She knew the Daedra didn’t take her attempt at keeping the relic from him seriously, but it was her best chance at convincing Miraak to join her on her quest.

Of course, the idea of a deal reeked of corruption and false promises to Miraak, because according to her limited knowledge about the dragon priest, that was exactly what had happened to him during his time on Nirn.

He had tried to warn her many times during their fight in Apocrypha about how Hermaeus Mora was going to betray her as he had betrayed Miraak, and there was no doubt about its validity.

Hermaeus Mora hadn’t told her much about the relic at all, but Callisto had seen the opportunity to get something out of his desire to own it.

She knew she had to outsmart the Prince somehow. With Miraak’s help, the chances of them being able to fight him back were absurdly higher—not only because of his immense power in battle, but also because of his knowledge and wisdom about Mora.

* * *

They reached the coast with the ship of interest. There were going to be a lot of bandits to cut through, but the vessel was crucial to Callisto’s plan.

One lone man keeping watch outside seemed rather bored, which made him a perfect first target.

Miraak watched the Dragonborn use her Dragon Aspect and set up an arrow before aiming with focus. The guy was dead before he even had the time to react to the noise of her bow snapping back. A fellow bandit appeared by his side, his alarmed movement informing more bandits in the back that they were under attack.

It didn’t take long for them to ready their weapons, keeping their heads down while scouting for enemies. Callisto shot another arrow, soon taking down man after man. Their confusion started to turn into desperation, which felt fulfilling to her. She turned around to check on Miraak, but the spot next to her was empty. Her eyes landed on a golden reflection ahead.

Miraak had walked up to the ship’s dock and promptly unsheathed his blade.

Callisto wasn’t sure what in the name of Akatosh he was doing, but she used the bandit’s focus on the former dragon priest to her advantage. A small group of the men appeared, charging towards Miraak, their leader teasing him about being in the wrong place. A short moment later, the entire group was sent flying by Miraak’s cyclone, cries of pain echoing through the shore as they landed harshly on the ground and took too long to recover before Miraak stroke them with his cursed blade.

His boldness surely was entertaining to watch.

Pretty much none of the bandits had stood a chance, and Callisto appreciated how much less time it took to clear out bandits with a partner like Miraak. Teldryn and Serana were useful for sure, but their fighting was nothing like Miraak’s—how exciting!

A sudden urge to spar with him aroused in her, and she kept the idea in the back of her head as she made her way up to the ship.

“Impressive,” she called out, stopping next to him. “That looked easy.”

“How very perceptive of you,” Miraak responded. He sheathed his sword and made his way up the entry ramp without turning to look at her.

Callisto huffed. He didn’t even know what to look for and already pretended to lead the way.

She followed him, watching him look around in silence once they reached the deck. A laugh escaped her throat when she saw him turn his hands upwards in confusion as to why they were here. “Sick of leading yet?” she then mocked.

He turned around to look at her, probably scowling under all that metal, and she smiled at him in response.

Miraak breathed in to respond, but she cut him off, “The treasure we are looking for is the very ship we are standing on right now.” He tilted his head slightly and turned towards her fully. “Yes, my dear. The map you didn’t think was important enough to look at showed no snowy mountains. We need to go the isles of Hammerfell, and I am not going to swim the distance after crossing a bloody desert,” Callisto explained.

“I merely trusted in your decision-making, Callisto,” he then purred back, stepping closer.

How fun. He had never addressed her by her name before.

She shoved him aside with her arm—and ignored how hard it was to get him to move. “Help me manoeuvre this out of here. It needs to get to someone who will bring it to Hammerfell and get it ready when we need it.”

Miraak chuckled, “You intend to manoeuvre a knarr with merely two people?”

“I am sure your thousands of years in a library will have taught you plenty of knowledge about sailing. Besides, any lacking skill of yours I can make up for.” She tilted her head at him, pinning him with a serious glare.

She knew there was no point in arguing and he was just trying to test her leadership.

Or merely her patience.

Though she kind of winged the idea of getting a ship this size anywhere without a crew. It wasn’t a particularly large ship, but she definitely needed more than two men to operate properly; her intel hadn’t exactly been clear on emphasizing the effort required, and Callisto immediately regretted giving the task to anyone but her close companions.

Well, she guessed it was a nice opportunity to find out just how good Miraak was at improvising—and he was most likely going to impress her.

* * *

Lowering her hood, Serana adjusted a few lose strands of hair before walking ahead with Teldryn.

“I presume we have no time to dwell until we have asked all of our questions,” the Dunmer responded. He looked up to the cloudless sky. “The Dragonborn surely is going to require more time with her task than we will.”

They reached their informant not many hours later, and she hopped down from her horse with a pleasant sigh at the feeling of being able to move her legs properly again. They got invited into a little cabin next to a river after identifying themselves properly. She appreciated finally being able to get out of the sun.

“So,” the woman began, “I assume you have been given proper basic information?”

Both Teldryn and Serana nodded.

“Well, there is enough intel giving me the idea that the relic is an ancient artefact currently owned by a man in Hammerfell, but the exact location isn’t known. I presume he is a man of power, since it is rumoured that he owns an entire palace to himself.”

Knowing how most noblemen acted, Serana sighed at the thought of getting through something like that. “Can you provide us with any names?”

The informant shook her head. “It is hard to track him from this far away without raising suspicion. It would certainly be easier to get more detailed information once you are closer to Hammerfell.”

Teldryn crossed his arms and seemed to reflect on how to proceed.

“Unfortunately, that is all I have gathered since Callisto and I last exchanged,” the woman then said.

That wasn’t much information at all, which gave Serana a feeling of hopelessness. They had ridden for hours just to hear that the artefact was owned by some nobleman owning a palace? Hopefully, the Dragonborn would know what to make of that.

“What do you think?” Serana asked the mercenary later on as they climbed back onto their horses.

“We will have to cross the desert either way, won’t we? We will have plenty of opportunities to collect more details there,” he responded, his tone nonchalant as usual.

* * *

By some miracle of the Aedra, the ship had set sail—not very smoothly, but it seemed to work. Steering was more difficult than imagined, but Callisto wasn’t going to show it. She had used small boats before, but those were a lot easier to manoeuvre.

Although, Miraak seemed to be okay managing the lines; it was merely a longer process than it should have been whenever they needed to be tended to, which wasn’t always easy to work around with.

She hoped they weren’t going to wreck the ship before even getting to Hammerfell, because there was no alternate plan for this one.

“This turned out to be more fun than imagined!” Callisto called out, glancing over to Miraak, who didn’t seem amused whatsoever.

He stepped to her side. Of course, he had gotten tired of being the one getting commanded, as predicted and confirmed multiple times before. Callisto laughed.

“Do you know what to do?” she asked, fully expecting him to come up with a ridiculous answer.

“I will steer the ship and you will handle the rest.” His tone didn’t allow for discussion.

Oh, but that was exactly what motivated her to discuss.

“Now,” she began, not letting go of the helm, “I am fairly certain you are going to fuck this up, Miraak.”

“We shall see, shall we not?” He stepped closer.

“There is no second chance with this ship!” Her eyes jumped from the horizon to his mask in fast rates, and she was starting to think they should stop sailing before this distraction ended up badly.

“I am very aware of that.” He took another step forward, bumping into her deliberately.

“You fool!” Callisto stepped away, making her way towards the lines with harsh steps and starting to back the sail. Miraak stared at her, realising she was putting the ship to a stop. He rushed over to her, but she had pulled out her dagger, raising it towards him.

“What—“

“Fight me,” she barked, “and the winner shall be in control of the ship.”

Miraak laughed—the first time she had ever heard him laugh—and charged an alteration spell to fortify his armour. He didn’t hesitate nor ask questions, which pleased her.

All he needed was a chance to be in charge. It was getting rather easy.

“Bold of you to do it right here, on the ship you care so much about. And all of this on a time schedule, as well,” he said, pulling out his sword to match her stance.

She charged at him, misdirecting his defence by swiftly striking him on his side. His body glowed as his Ebonyflesh got damaged; she had to crack through it before even being able to match his coverage.

He used the time she took to step back to his advantage by blocking her path with his sword, swinging his arm to land a blow against her small dagger. Had it not been made out of dragon bone, it surely would have cracked.

The constant slashing and ringing of blades hitting each other and various pieces of armour over and over rang through the rocks lining the coast, and the ship waddled with their heavy steps and charged momentum. Callisto tried to stay aware of how much their fighting influenced the vessel’s movement.

It was going to be fun to see Miraak run around from line to line with grumpy resignation.

A steel arrow landed on the deck, right next to her foot. She was going to pause, but Miraak was already charging another blow on her. She dodged to the side. “Miraak!” she hissed.

He ignored her, grunting as he swung his blade towards her with force once again.

“FEIM, ZII GRON!”

Her shout took him by surprise, and he stood back while observing her. “You truly prefer to cease our fighting over an arrow?” His voice sounded disappointed.

“I am not risking someone following up with a fireball,” Callisto snapped back. She looked to the side, spotting the archer as he drew his bow once again. Anger rose within her, making her charge multiple balls of fire in her hands and bombarding him with an assault of flames, the rocks he stood on getting charred in the process.

Miraak simply watched until the archer disappeared, either burnt alive or having escaped the Last’s wrath by simply running.

Callisto sighed in frustration, trying to calm herself down.

Not only had her fight been interrupted, she also noticed that it was going to take another miracle to get the ship moving again.

It also probably made her look like an utter fool to Miraak.

But who was he to judge? The guy had probably lost his temper over much smaller things, considering the story the look of his ancient temple had told her.

“We need to do it all over again, so get ready.” She sounded as demotivated as he looked.


	4. Vulnerability

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have pretty much been writing non-stop the past few days. I guess being on holiday helps a lot with creativity.  
> Hope you like this one.

It was nice to see the camp had already been set up when Callisto and Miraak arrived to the chosen meeting spot. She dropped off her satchel inside her tent and landed onto the pelts she was going to sleep in with a huff, exhaustion running through her body. Serana and Teldryn were busy cooking up some dinner, and Miraak went off somewhere to do whatever someone like Miraak would do after a long day of travel.

Knowing they secured the knarr made her feel a lot better. So far, the plan was going rather well. At least on her part, as she still had to hear what the other half of the group had to say. For a moment. she collected enough motivation to get up again.

“What have you two found out?” Callisto asked, getting closer to the fire as Teldryn stirred the stew. Serana’s eyes shot up to meet Teldryn’s and she hesitated for a short moment.

“The owner of the relic might be a nobleman who may or may not own an entire palace to himself, but our informant said it is hard to get concrete information on him from this distance,” the mercenary explained.

Callisto looked at him with a thoughtful expression. “And this has been confirmed?” she asked.

“We have to get closer to know more,” the vampire responded, resolution setting up in her eyes. Callisto sighed. This was exactly what she had hoped would not happen; planning anything with this little information was nothing but dangerous and had a high chance of going wrong.

But she supposed they didn’t have much of a choice.

“We shall set foot for Hammerfell in two days,” the Dragonborn then spoke up. “That should be enough time for us to gather everything we need for the trip.” She looked at the teammates present, and they loyally agreed to her plans.

That meant that she now had to either wait for Miraak to come back—if he found the camp, that is—or go and look for him.

Something told her she didn’t have much of a choice with this one either.

He couldn’t have gone far, especially since they had arrived at the camp together and it hadn’t been more than a few short moments since she hadn’t seen him. Her best guess was that he had just been walking around, sightseeing and observing the night sky for hours, just like he did when they had come back from Apocrypha.

Callisto trusted his knowledge of the map of Skyrim; after all, he had probably studied it to every little crevice in the couple of thousand years he was locked out.

But maybe she was giving him too much credit, and he was just bouncing around like a complete idiot on his own, lost in the dark, with thoughts about having wanted to leave the group from the start anyway and starting his own cultist revolution or some other idiocy.

Callisto chuckled to herself. It wasn’t too far-fetched.

She noticed some movement in the distance, by the lake—of course, he went to play in the water. “Miraak!” she called out, watching as the figure promptly ignored her and walked further towards the flat darkness. Callisto sighed. It was the first time she was the one who had to deal with the stubbornness of a Dragonborn.

Once she had arrived at the shore, she saw Miraak simply standing in the lake, immerged up to his knees, staring at the reflection of the moon that was barely blurred by the soft waves his entrance had caused. He made no sign of having recognised her presence, as if completely lost in thought. Callisto mentally huffed at how vulnerable he was in that exact moment.

But she also understood him. He hadn’t had the chance to explore too much due to their busy schedule. A hint of guilt pricked at her knowing that she was the reason he had to rush back into life, but it didn’t last long. Her mission was what forced them into a schedule to begin with.

She slowly walked closer, observing him be perfectly still.

“Hey,” she said, “your feet are going to freeze off, if they haven’t already.” She mostly mentioned that because she was feeling her own feet turn into blocks of ice, and she was trying to get out fast. Maybe ancient Nords had even higher cold tolerance?

“I don’t need you to come looking for me,” he answered, to her surprise. He took off his mask, his eyes closed as the slight breeze caressed his face and made his hair flutter lightly.

If only it could have been heart-warming enough to warm her feet as well.

“Well, whether you like it or not, you are essential to Skyrim now, so come back and help me before Mora destroys us all, yes?”

He turned around, struck by something. Callisto heard him hold his breath for a few short moments, which made her curious as to what he was thinking about.

“…You seen enough yet?” The question shot out of her.

Miraak huffed in response.

* * *

The region of Craglorn was instantly recognisable with its infamous rocky scenery. It had been a long ride, but at least they had finally passed the border.

They rode to the nearest settlement before taking a short break, Miraak constantly staying behind to observe everything around him. She wondered how long it would take to become boring to him.

The sky turned dark before anyone noticed, and the group decided to stay at a local inn for the night. It had only been one with three free rooms, but anything was better than sleeping in the dust outside, with alien insects crawling around.

Callisto bought a round of drinks for everyone.

A bunch of strangers joined in at the table, crowding up the inn. They looked like mercenaries of some sort.

“Where are you guys headed?” one of them asked Callisto, taking a seat next to her.

Miraak crossed his arms and sat back as he watched with peaked curiosity.

“We’re exploring Hammerfell,” the Last responded. He shifted closer to her, spreading his legs and leaning onto one of his knees with his hand. He seemed rather interested in conversation for someone wanting to enjoy a drink and relax for the night.

“And what are you looking for in Hammerfell?” he asked, glaring into her eyes.

Ah, so he was looking for trouble indeed. “Do you think you are important enough to know?” the Dovahkiin replied, chuckling before taking a large sip of mead.

The mercenary merely stared at her in disbelief. Maybe he hadn’t experienced getting humbled before?

He stood up, his hand embracing the hilt of his curved blade. “Who are you to think you may speak to me like that, brat?”

Callisto laughed out loud and stood up calmly.

“You want to enjoy some of the fresh air outside?” she proposed, her voice low.

The mercenary hummed in agreement. How fun!

They calmly made their way out of the small building, Serana and Teldryn finishing up their drinks before following them. Miraak brushed invisible dust off his robes before joining them.

As soon as they left the stairs to the entrance of the inn, his men unsheathed his swords, whereas Callisto used an alteration spell to enhance her armour.

She noticed Miraak had stopped at the inn’s entrance.

So he was just going to watch. If this was another way of him testing her abilities, he was in for a good show.

Callisto waved Teldryn and Serana away. “You may join the spectator at the stairs,” she said, gaining raised eyebrows from them.

The man she had talked to pulled his sword, charging at her with an ugly smirk. The Dovahkiin dodged to the side, making no move to reciprocate an attack. Another man had been charging from behind her, trying to start off with a sneak attack. Callisto laughed, dancing away from sword after sword.

“You trying to waste time?” the grumpy Redguard growled.

“What?” Callisto asked nonchalantly. “I am merely enjoying the dance.” And with that, she slashed at his shoulder, cutting a deep wound that stretched down to the middle of his back. The leather armour he was wearing was no match for her sharp blade, and his cloth jumped open, dangling with his movements as he turned around to snarl at her.

Irritation boiled within his veins, and she could sense her dragon soul flare up. Ah, it was a rush of blood to her limbs that made her feel like she was invincible.

His companions charged at her, two men coming in from her sides and one from behind. She ducked, using momentum to rotate and stab one of the side men in the back, hearing an excruciating yell from him as he fell to the dusty ground. The last three men seemed to get angrier and angrier which every attack she avoided and every little wound she cut into each of them.

Their fighting wasn’t particularly bad, but definitely not up to her standards. The leader might have been the most decent fighter, which she presumed was the reason he was in charge.

Once he was the only one left standing, he remained in front of her, waiting for her to attack first.

“Tell me,” Callisto started, “was it really worth it for you to be rude to a stranger like that?” Her arrogance made his nose crease up in annoyance, and she reeled in the feeling of superiority.

The man chuckled, a sudden expression of confidence taking over his features. Callisto narrowed her eyes in bewilderment.

“I would say yes, it was indeed a worthy opportunity,” he replied, sheathing his sword to his belt with an exaggerated swing of his arm. “My job here is done.”

And with that, he casually walked over to his horse, ignoring the dead bodies of his companions lying in front of him like he never cared about them at all.

“So what makes you think I will let you leave?” the Dragonborn spat.

“I will find you soon, and you will be grateful for the information I will give to you. So long, Dragon.” The mercenary rode past her, keeping his eyes fixed on hers until he disappeared in the dark.

Callisto huffed. Who in Oblivion was this guy? Why did he call her Dragon?

She was going to stomp towards him, but a large hand on her shoulder held her back. “He will be useful in the future,” Teldryn spoke.

“We haven’t even heard his name,” she retaliated, glaring at him.

“Then we will find out.”

It was baffling how the man sacrificed his entire team just to promise information the next time they would meet.

Perhaps the man was collecting information on his own. There clearly was someone he was going to report to, which made Callisto wary.

“Someone is watching us.”

* * *

Given the fact that the inn merely had three free beds, Miraak used the opportunity to sleep in his private tent outside, further away from the building. He was glad for every chance he got to stay in peace; and that time, the Dovahkiin didn’t have a reason to scout around for him.

He even got to explore a new environment altogether—not like Skyrim or Solstheim resembled anything they used to be when he lived there. It felt indescribable to be back, and it was hard to tell whether it was in a good way or not. He certainly never expected to be saved by the Dragonborn, the one whose soul he planned on devouring to escape.

The obsession to come back to rule had dominated his brain to the point he had lost all sense, and now that he was finally free, it drove him equally mad to think his bond to Hermaeus Mora still wasn’t over.

He wanted to destroy, to kill, to watch people work for him and suffer under his tyranny, because no one was competent enough to beat him in battle.

Besides the Dovahkiin, perhaps. She seemed to be at least capable of matching his power to some extent.

Despite her incredible power, Miraak noticed Callisto’s way of leading was oddly benign. Her companions’ loyalty was admirable, yes. But the question was how satisfying it was for her. She had the soul of a Dov, she was born to rule over every being, enjoying the highest status in Skyrim, if not the whole of Tamriel. Miraak couldn’t fathom her being content with merely a few people following her around, especially with this much freedom.

Freedom that he had been receiving, as well, with the only condition being he helped them with their mission. But how much of that was due to his actual will? Was he getting manipulated into thinking her actions were the right way to go?

No, not the right way, but his own way.

Miraak lied down onto the pelts in his tent after securing it to the ground. He took off his mask, his lungs filling up with fresh, dry air as he took a deep breath.

He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands and groaned. The chance to have freedom of mind was right there in front of him, and he was the only one stopping him from getting it.

It would have been much nicer to have some time to merely…exist. To get used to eating, to drinking, to sleeping again. He wanted to relax in peace, like in this exact moment, with no one bothering him with stares that were anything but respectful.

Maybe it was envy that he felt for the Last Dragonborn in that regard. Although he definitely caught multiple people looking at her in rather disrespectful ways, too.  
No, he didn’t envy her. He wanted people to respect her as the superior being she was.

Annoyance crept up in his guts.

He reflected upon whether her deal actually involved his freedom, as well. If she had actually been stupid enough to go for a deal, that is. She either made a deal, or she was capable enough to overcome the power of the strongest of the Daedric princes, latter of which he strongly doubted was even possible for anyone.

A headache crept into his skull, so he turned onto his side to catch some rest for the night.

* * *

“Okay, here's how this works: you try to assassinate me, and I kill you—horribly. I have done this dance before, you know.” Her voice sounds confident, which makes it more exciting.

Their fight is mostly a waltz of blades hitting each other with loud rings, but her opponent’s armour isn’t strong enough to deal with the hundreds of cuts her dagger carves into it over time.

“Impressive footwork, I have to say,” the woman praises mid-fight, wiping blood off her cut cheek.

The pirate doesn’t expect the sea of fire shooting right at her and yells in pain as the flames consume her clothes and skin. As she gets weakened to the point she can barely move, the weight of her opponent’s body on her chest causes her to grunt heavily.

“Thank you for the dance.”

The captain’s throat gets sliced open, blood splashing onto the floor.

She waits for the satisfaction of a kill, but it never appears. A feeling of betrayal hits her heart as she is left wanting more. She longs for a fight against someone who can actually challenge her, to make her soul flare up with life as the rush of adrenaline runs through her veins.

She stands up and sheathes her dagger, sighing in disappointment as she exits the cabin.

* * *

Someone stomped into his tent. His hand instinctively shot towards his blade, grabbing it and holding it out to whoever thought it was a good idea to wake him that way.

Of course, it was her.

“Serana is gone!” the Dovahkiin shouted, as if he was responsible for it.

Miraak rubbed his tired eyes, trying to ignore the headache her presence was already giving him. “Is that so?” he said, his voice still rough from sleep.

Whatever he did seemed to upset her, because she stomped even closer and glared at him from above. “Did you hear her get out of the inn last night?” she demanded to know.

“I am rather far away from the inn to hear anyone sneak out in my sleep, do you not agree?”

Miraak slowly stood up to be on her eye level. He noticed how her hair was messier than usual, and how one part of her armour hadn’t been fastened properly. Absent-mindedly, he raised a finger to point at the loose lace. Callisto’s eyes followed its invisible line, stopping at her shoulder. Her eyes snapped back to his.

“We have to go find her; she might be in trouble that is dangerous to us all!” she then exclaimed, shaking her head.

He shrugged, his hand turning upwards with some momentum. “She was probably taken by the same person who sent that mercenary,” he said. He yawned and stretched his shoulders.

The colour of her eyes looked strikingly bright when she widened them. “You are right,” she then murmured. Her eyes shot from left to right repeatedly, like they tended to do whenever she was reflecting on something.

It didn’t take long to gather the horses and move in the direction the mercenary had left the night before. Teldryn had taken care of leading Serana’s horse, with the Dovahkiin leading the way as usual; though this time, Miraak didn’t stay behind. He rode right next to her, even if that meant not being able to take in his surroundings, which, frankly, was never a smart move.

But her eyes were focused on the horizon ahead, determination showing in her entire body.

Serana’s absence was indeed bad for the plan, given that it was going to require more time spent on looking for her. Miraak didn’t really care about the vampire to begin with, and it bothered him that it was such a big deal to the Dovahkiin.

Callisto brought her horse to a halt, prompting the other ones to do the same.

“We will split up.” Her tone made clear how upset she was.

“Are you sure?” the Dunmer asked. Miraak huffed at him questioning his leader’s command. What baffled him even more was said leader’s reaction to it, which seemed to be ridiculously calm.

“Yes,” she replied. “You will ride west. Meet us in the first city with walls you will encounter up north from here. Once we are all together again, we will plan ahead from there.” She gathered a map from the satchel of her horse and threw it to him.

Teldryn nodded, immediately riding off to the side, getting smaller and smaller in the distance.

Not too many hours later, the two Dragonborn arrived at the next settlement. It was larger than the one they had spent the night at, with an inn twice the size, and Miraak felt a touch of disappointment at the thought of having to sleep inside.

Callisto booked them a room at the inn right away, making him frown. She surely didn’t have in mind to let him camp outside again, which meant she was planning on sharing a room.

“I will have my own room,” he dictated.

“No,” she snapped. They walked into said accommodation, a very spacious place, and he noticed the single large bed inside. “Suck it up. I’m not letting you stay outside and get kidnapped as well.” Her tone was clearly vexed by his protest.

Miraak laughed loudly at her suggestion. “Are you seriously expecting me to be kidnapped by mercenaries?”

The Dragonborn seemed offended, her frown deepening as she looked at him. She stomped in front of him, glaring up.

“You know better than anyone that Mora is watching us at every moment”—her index finger poked him in the chest—“and I am not putting your ass on the line when the rest of my teammates are lost somewhere. Do you know how much it would fuck up the entirety of my plan?”

He grabbed her finger and guided it away from his chest. She watched him, seemingly surprised her finger had still been there to begin with. He stepped aside.

He took off his mask, rubbing his face. It seemed to get a lot hotter in this region, and he mentally braced himself for the upcoming desert heat.

If Serana hadn’t been such an easy target to kidnap, he wouldn’t have had to deal with it for as long.

The Dovahkiin seemed to be on edge, but most likely more due to her missing friend rather than the heat. Miraak supposed this was an opportunity to keep himself busy with.

“Fight me tonight,” Miraak then said, catching the Dovahkiin off guard. She blinked at him for a moment.

“You want to spar?”

“Don’t deny it would make you feel better.” He stepped closer again. “Unless you feel satisfied with random fights against mercenaries.” She huffed, looking away while shaking her head.

A faint image flashed up in his mind—a captain’s cabin, perhaps? It disappeared too fast for him to be able to make out much more.

“I will kick your ass, Miraak,” Callisto said, a smile growing on her face.

“I very much doubt that.” He put his mask on the bed.

“I am going to get us something to eat. I need to come up with a few alternate plans as well, since this one is bound to go wrong sooner or later,” Callisto said, more to herself than to him, counting the coins in her little purse.

* * *

Getting food was not only necessary due to her hunger, but also for the opportunity to scout the market for potential information, both on Serana’s disappearance and the nobleman’s location.

The entire street was filled with tents and stands, each presenting their own delicious food and intriguing clothing and jewellery. Some of it she could have managed to steal, but she stayed focused on her purpose, especially since she had enough gems to trade for at least another dozen days.

Passing by face after face, she studied her surroundings in more detail. It was a rather crowded market, especially at this time. Her studies on the culture of Hammerfell had proven to be of use; it was common for markets to open up before noon, which she planned on using to her advantage.

But by the Gods, was it hard not to give in and buy the first piece of grilled meat she had looked at.

Making her way further down the street, she eavesdropped every conversation she managed to. One of them peaked particular interest, as a man mentioned a vampire. Callisto nonchalantly walked closer, pretending to study the intricate patterns on a scarf hanging in one of the nearby tents. They conversed about an attack happening not long ago.

She tried to glance over, trying to make out the men’s faces. They seemed to be normal citizens, with no weapons or armour whatsoever, which stroke her as strange.

One of the men then talked about how the vampires attacked in a large group, which promptly made Callisto sigh.

After an hour or two, no other conversation seemed to be relevant to her, so she decided to give up and just grab something to eat. She settled for the juiciest and biggest roast she could find.

Getting inside her room, she dropped off Miraak’s lunch on a table and took out the plan map from her satchel.

She noticed Miraak had used the time to shave properly. He still looked old.

“I have found nothing,” she said, even if he hadn’t asked her. She studied her map, as she had many times before.

The former dragon priest walked up to his lunch, devouring it at a shockingly fast rate. Her eyes dropped back to the paper.

She checked the direction the mercenary had left in. It was mostly more rocks and dust, until the grasslands began and stretched out towards another region of dry mountains. The very few settlements and cities on the way didn’t look too promising, but she knew they were going to stop there for sure.

Besides all the tiring planning and stumbling around in the dark, Callisto worried about her friend’s health. Maybe the mercenary had merely picked the fight in order to identify who would be easiest to hold hostage for ransom.

She doubted they knew how much money they had. To be frank, it was rather shocking that they managed to kidnap Serana to begin with—they all slept in the same damned inn!

The Dragonborn’s hands ran through her hair and she exhaled in desperation.

“We could spar now, if you prefer.” The sound of Miraak’s voice took her out of her thoughts.

Callisto shook her head. “It isn’t what I need right now.” At the sight of Miraak’s creased eyebrow, she continued, “I just need the tiniest amount of information on how Serana disappeared.”

“And you’re not going to rest until you get it,” Miraak finished her thought.

“I don’t trust the inn owner saying nothing happened for the entire night—she had to get out of that room to leave somehow!” she ranted.

Her worry still overtook her to the point she got angry at many things. She shouldn’t have fought that guy, or at least killed him off without getting baited by the promise of information. She was mad at him being able to get away with their fight so easily. As soon as any information about him became clear, he would die the most painful—

“Callisto,” Miraak said, his tone impatient. She glanced at him.

“Come with me. And bring your sword,” she then instructed, walking out of the room.

* * *

They walked out of the village gates, to an empty spot with nothing but dry grass and even drier earth. It was surrounded by a large wall of rocks, which gave them a good chance at privacy.

Miraak walked next to her, studying the environment as usual. Maybe he wasn’t homesick as much as he was trying to learn how to use his surroundings to his advantage; at least during fights. He was, after all, a very experienced fighter.

She was looking forward to being able to fight him with her full power, not having to worry about breaking anything that time. Much like their fight at the summit of Apocrypha, but without any concern about Hermaeus Mora potentially stabbing her—or him—with a tentacle.

Ah, that would have been a funny way to go.

They got into position, standing in front of each other with plenty of steps worth of space between them. Both of them fortified their armour with an alteration spell, followed by their thu’um.

She charged first, watching him steady himself for the incoming attack.

His blows hit a lot harder than hers, but her superior agility allowed her to dodge most of them and gain small chances to cut him most of the times.

They continued until their hearts beat fast and their breaths became louder and louder each time.

“How about a twist?” Callisto suggested while she repositioned after parrying an attack.

“I am all ears,” Miraak responded.

“Magic only!”

Miraak paused, laughing at her. “You are willing to omit your only chance of matching my power?”

“We shall see about that,” she responded, throwing her dagger to the side and looking at him with an expectant stare.

“If you wish so,” he then said, mirroring her action.

A strong beam of lightning chirped towards her, and she barely managed to jump aside, rolling to reduce the impact with the ground. She didn’t have much time to move out of the way of the next one, and she was enjoying the game. It became increasingly harder to match his speed, and she wondered just how big his magicka pool was.

“What’s wrong, Dovahkiin?” Miraak called out, bombarding her with lightning after lightning.

She cast a ward to get a break, but her limited magicka resources weren’t going to be enough to protect her for long. Damn it, it seemed like he would never exhaust his!

“YOL, TOOR SHUL!” A river of fire emerged, shooting towards Miraak. His own ward exploded at the strength of her thu’um, and he stood for a moment, looking baffled. Or impressed. Callisto’s soul felt ablaze, warming her entire body with a feeling of satisfaction.

“What’s wrong, Dovahkiin?” she mocked, stepping closer. Her breaths had become exaggerated pants.

“Your thu’um has become stronger,” Miraak commented. His tone sounded a little incredulous, which sparked some irritation in her.

Did he think she wouldn’t become stronger and that she had been at her peak during their battle in Oblivion?

“Yes, it has. Are you surprised?” She cast some simple restoration spells to heal her cuts and burns.

“Quite a bit,” he replied. “Well done.”

She shot a fireball towards him, using his distraction to land a blow.

His robes’ enchantment absorbed most of the magic, leaving him untouched.

Right. Magic definitely was his strongest skill. And during her adrenaline high, she challenged him to a magic-only fight. What a great idea.

“You seem worried,” Miraak said in a sarcastic tone, walking towards her as she kept shooting fireballs at him. How was her magic that weak when she had just managed to baffle him with her thu’um?

He stopped right in front of her, watching her exhaustion take over her as she took a moment to merely catch her breath.

“You’re cheating,” she wheezed. “Your robes are doing everything for you!”

“Has it not crossed your mind that you just are not doing enough?” he chuckled. “You will never be able to best me with magic, especially not in your current state.” Ugh, his condescending tone drove her mad.

“How about we fight with magic without you wearing these?” She pinched some of the fabric of his robes.

He laughed at her, but in a strange way. She couldn’t quite pinpoint the feeling it gave her, but it was something akin to disgust. “I am not going to confront you naked, Dragonborn, even if you might enjoy the view.”

He put a hand on her shoulder as he walked past her, picking up his sword from the ground.

At that, she laughed back, the image seeming rather ridiculous in her head. “Whatever makes you feel less old, Squid-mask,” she retaliated.

She viewed Miraak as a rather unsexual being. Though he probably had a nicely toned body, not having eaten any sweetrolls for millennia. She giggled to herself.

“You have my thanks,” she said as they reached their room. “It felt nice to fight again. You were right.”

“I knew I was,” he simply replied.

She returned to her map—and this time, she was actually able to focus on it properly.

* * *

He woke up from his nightmare, relieved to see his reality was still outside of Apocrypha.

When he turned onto his side, the Dragonborn was sleeping next to him peacefully, her calm breaths barely audible even in the silence reigning over the room.

Miraak sat up, rubbing his eyes to get a clearer image of his dark surroundings. His sword still lay on the night table next to his side of the bed, and his boots were put up against the wall just how he had left them before going to sleep.

He walked over to the closed window and unlocked the wooden blinds, spreading them outwards. To his surprise, the sun had yet to rise, but it was shortly after dawn at least.

He observed the sky, spotting some brighter stars that still twinkled their way across the horizon. The world was still in the process of waking up, birds greeting the day with their chirping.

An urge to exercise awoke in him, and he knew just where to go.

Turning around, he noted the Dovahkiin was turning in her sleep, mumbling to herself.

How embarrassing.

Miraak walked over to his mask with the intention of putting it on, but a hand shot out to strongly grab him by the wrist before he could reach it. He grunted.

“Don’t put it on,” the Dragonborn spoke softly, her voice barely rough from sleep.

He remained silent, waiting for her to fall back asleep and forget about this nonsense, but her eyes opened and landed on his, instead.

“It corrupts your face,” Callisto then explained. Her hand let go of him and she turned onto her back, breathing in deeply while stretching.

It had been the first time he had seen his face while shaving the previous day, and he noted his black eyes and some dark veins running across his jaw, down to his collar bone.

It wasn’t as bad as he had expected, to be frank.

What surprised him was that the Dragonborn cared about it.

“I am sure you have more important things to worry about, Dovahkiin,” he snapped back, grabbing his mask despite her sleepy frown.

She sat up abruptly. “Have you never thought about how the mask affects you? Besides its enchantment, I mean.”

He glanced down at the metal in his hand.

He considered what the Dovahkiin was telling him. It was the mask he had worn for most of his life, even before his imprisonment. Some features of it had changed over time, and it was no doubt due to Apocrypha’s cursed magic, but he never felt…different wearing it, at least not different from before his involvement with Mora, as far as he could tell.

“Your eyes”—the Dragonborn stood up, barely leaving any space between them—“change when you wear the mask. When I came back from getting us food yesterday, you had shaved, and your eyes weren’t as dark as usual, presumably due to you having taken off your mask for a short while.”

Oblivion’s influence flowed through the metal and reached into him whenever he wore it? It didn’t sound like an impossibility. Maybe its effect was different in Apocrypha. Maybe Mora was even using to get more of an insight now that he had returned to Nirn.

“Keep it off for a day,” she suggested. “Perhaps it will piss Mora off just a little bit. And at worst, people will finally be able to tell the colour of your eyes.”

As far as he recalled, his eye colour was grey—but it was hard to say for sure anymore.

“Plus, it’ll provide a great opportunity to spar without your little cheat.” Callisto then added, splaying her fingers with light irritation.

Miraak huffed. “My mask? Lastly, you complained merely about my robes.”

“Yeah, those too.”

Ah, he spotted the easy opportunity to mess with her and he didn’t hesitate to grasp it.

“So I was right assuming that getting me undressed was your plan all along?” he then murmured, reaching out to grab one of her loose strands of hair and rub it between his fingers.

“Wha—no!” she exclaimed. She harshly slapped his hand aside and took some distance from him. “I am not suggesting we should spar naked, no matter how badly you’re trying to project that shit onto me.” She walked over to where her armour lay and started putting her chest piece on.

“Of course you are not,” Miraak taunted.

“You’re fucking old!” she then barked.

“Ah, but that didn’t stop you from willingly sharing a bed with me, did it, now?”

Her eyes became wide, and her head snapped towards him. She walked over to him with heavy steps; the loudness of her steps were an easy indication of how upset she was, given how her usual stealth-based gait barely made any noise.

“What are you going to do? Challenge me to another battle of magic again?” he teased before she was able to start speaking.

“I will do that until my power matches yours, and the fact that it won’t take me an eternity to get there will humble you to the point you will feel like a squashed bug the second I overpower you,” Callisto hissed, her tone full of resentment.

Miraak laughed out loud. He respected her confidence, even if he couldn’t take her seriously.

“We shall see,” he merely responded, the amusement still audible in his tone. As a matter of fact, he was willing to teach her just to see just how fast she was actually going to learn. Perhaps he was going to be impressed, even!

“Then let’s go right now,” Callisto then urged, fastening a piece of her arm-guard.

“Be ready to learn,” Miraak said, walking out of the room.

* * *

He walked towards the area they had sparred in the previous time, glad to see there was barely any sign of their fight left to see. Most of the grass their thu’um had burnt had been covered by dust and meshed in well with the rest of the sun-roasted territory.

His upper robes were discarded on the ground and he started off with push-ups to warm up.

“I presume this was your morning routine in Apocrypha?” the Last Dragonborn asked, watching him while sitting on the floor, stretching her legs with ease in her light armour.

“Yes, though it was hard to tell the time,” he responded, focusing on his breathing.

She reacted with a light chuckle.

“Let us begin with some defence, since that is the easiest class of magic,” he said after a long moment of silence, sitting up from the ground and walking over to collect his robes.

Of course, her self-esteem was touched by his phrasing, judging by how she grimaced as she walked to position herself in front of him.

He steadied himself, waiting for the Dragonborn to be ready. He shot a bolt of lightning at her and she used her ward to protect herself, but it dissipated as soon as it got hit, making her stumble as she lost her balance.

Oh, she was truly weak in every class of magic. How disgraceful.

“Direct enough energy to a spell before you decide to cast it,” he explained.

The Dragonborn summoned a ward in front of her angled palm, looking at it with an intense stare of concentration. It slowly thickened outward from the centre, until it burst in her palm, causing her to groan loudly.

She stared at her empty hand for a few moments.

Miraak shook his head and laughed. “And you tried to spar against me without the use of weapons.”

She shot him a sharp glare. “How many times will you rub that in before it stops feeding your ego?”

He ignored her remark, turning serious again. “When you charge the spell, your breathing is of crucial importance. It requires a strong sense of meditation, which I presume you haven’t even heard of yet.”

“Meditating helps with magic?” she then asked, blinking at him. “That explains why you’re such a strong mage, huh? All that time meditating in Apoc—”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Teach me how to meditate, then,” the Dovahkiin said, shifting the palm of her hand upward.

“I am sure your personality will clash with the required methods for a long time,” Miraak argued, promptly gaining another frown from her.

It was so very easy to displease her.

“If you are able to focus enough on steadying your bow and aim your arrow, it shouldn’t be the hardest task for you,” Miraak then spoke.

Once the sun had reached its zenith, he decided it was enough training for the day.

“How did you learn that on your own?” the Last asked him on their way back to the inn.

“I didn’t exactly lack the time to perfect it,” Miraak answered. “And my past education surely was helpful.”

“Your past as a dragon priest?”

He hummed in affirmation.

Arriving at the inn, he noticed Teldryn’s horse standing next to theirs. As soon as he pointed it out to her, Callisto ran inside, shoving someone out of the way in the process.

Miraak ignored that person’s stare as he walked past him.


	5. Challenges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so.  
> I have been working on fixing up the plot and individual scenes for the past month; at least when I wasn't busy with work or uni.  
> It ended up being much more of a slow burn, but I like it that way.  
> I had deleted the previous version of this chapter because a bunch of stuff got added in the process of polishing up the story, which makes this chapter rather long, especially relative to the others.
> 
> Thanks for waiting it out! I hope you enjoy the read.

Her dagger slashed against the tree, splinters flying off and landing on a pile on the ground. Callisto panted, huffing or grunting with each blow, increasing in speed. Her strokes became stronger and stronger, the chunks getting rougher each time. Her muscles were burning, but she kept going, her lungs aching with exhaustion.

The fact that she allowed herself to be careless enough for her teammate to get kidnapped made her blood boil in anger. It was a short moment in which she let her guard down, but it caused them so many problems that put her entire plan at risk, and with it, most likely their lives.

The wood cracked, forces pulling down the trunk towards the cut. It stayed crooked, but it wasn’t damaged enough to completely fall yet. Callisto kicked it with force, gaining more cracking noises each time. With a final loud groan, she jumped against the tree, detaching it from the lower part of its trunk completely.

A loud bang echoed through the area and dust flew up with the tree’s landing, and her slashes continued on the stump, as fast and as vigorous as before, adrenaline powering her body.

For a second, she lost her eyesight and stumbled with imbalance as disorientation hit her senses. Her fingers pressed onto her temple at an attempt to still the pain creeping into her head.

Suddenly, she vaguely remembered a masked man wearing long robes approaching her. Something about the sight of him irked her to the point she felt hatred towards him.

It confused her; was it a distant dream she once experienced? She couldn’t recall knowing any man like him.

Her vision continued with foreign words being spoken. Their sound reminded her of Dovahzul, which promptly perplexed her even further.

Her headache grew unbearable and she fell to the floor, bending over as her hands clenched her temples. Callisto screamed in agony.

Someone’s steps approached her and slowly came to a halt, presumably after having witnessed the scene.

At a loss of words, Callisto merely peaked up at Miraak, who was staring at her with a blank expression. He slowly raised his chin.

“Fight me,” Callisto then said, standing up with determination.

“Gladly—but first, I want to know what is causing this,” he then said, gesturing at the pile of chunky bark with something akin to repugnance.

She was grateful he wasn’t addressing her other outburst instead, for whatever reason.

“I want to fight you, and that’s all you need to know.”

She didn’t have the time nor the desire to talk to him about her feelings. Not like he was the type of person to listen to one’s problems and suggest possible ways to fix them, or to analyse for the sake of healing one’s soul. Now that she thought about it, it seemed rather bizarre of him to ask that in the first place.

It was most likely one of his attempts to test her and study her somehow.

His sheer power and ability to challenger her in fights strengthened her respect for him, but she didn’t consider him a friend whatsoever. All she needed him for in that moment was to get rid of her strong urge to fight.

“You won’t suggest a battle of magic now that you have trained?” Miraak called out during their sparring, charging a quick restoration spell in his hand.

“I want to beat your ass, not to lose to your enchantments,” Callisto responded, swinging her dagger at him with a loud breath.

Miraak’s thu’um shot towards her, barely giving her time to dodge to the side and avoid being roasted alive. She shouted back as soon as she landed back on her feet, making the First Dragonborn lose his balance for a short moment.

She shot a lightning bolt at him, gauging the effect on his robes. Much to her surprise, it didn’t get dissolved completely, and some of the cloth got scorched slightly. It might have been a small improvement, but happiness rushed through her heart nonetheless.

Only then, Miraak shot a bolt right back at her. With her distraction, it seared her arm badly and she yelled as pain gnawed away at her skin and flesh.

“What in Oblivion are you doing?” she shouted, holding the wound with her free hand. She fell onto her knees, dust and sand puffing up with her rough landing.

Her restoration spell was rather weak with his sparks draining her magicka, and she regretted relying on potions for this long.

Miraak walked over to her, observing the feeble light embrace her arm. “Your breath,” he reminded, “needs to be steady.”

Callisto shot him a venomous glare and her spell faded away as her concentration crashed. “How about you heal me, since this is your fault?”

He promptly chuckled at her response, still looking down at her. “Is it my fault you were distracted by the tiniest of victories to the point it made you an easy target?”

“Damn it, Miraak! Just help me out here,” she then urged.

Her gentle persuasion tactic had seemed to work, because Miraak kneeled down to her level and placed his hand above her wound, his magicka grasping her arm and illuminating every little ridge of the texture of her skin as it stilled her pain, its shine being worlds away from the weak brightness her own magic had reached.

The younger Dragonborn sighed in pleasure, relieved of anger for the moment. It surely would have been nice to already have healing abilities like his, but she had a long way to go. She observed his movements, studying his breathing as much as she could.

To her surprise, the wound had healed completely at an astonishing rate, Miraak’s hand falling back to his side. Her eyes roamed the spot the burn had been, and she noticed how there was no sign of scarring.

“That’s incredible,” she whispered.

She had met her fair share of insanely talented mages out there, but observing Miraak’s skill up closely, she ended up in an unmatched amount of awe.

She realised more and more how crucial it truly was to have him on her side.

* * *

Teldryn had cleaned up the mess of maps and books the Dragonborn had left scattered over the floor. Her burst of anger and frustration reminded Miraak of the repetitive moment of hitting a wall with his plans of escaping Apocrypha.

According to Teldryn, there was mercenary in the other town, and he had heard him talk about his group’s future plans in a city located somewhere in the desert. They were dealers of some sort, hired to transport wares as well as kill anyone who found out about it.

What made Miraak wonder was their motive to kidnap the Dragonborn’s friend.

Callisto had lost her patience as soon as she heard of it, packing her dagger and armour before stomping outside.

But now, she was back at the desk, studying her map and writing into her book as usual.

Perhaps the mere nature of a Dragonborn required them to completely lose their mind once in their lives?

After another two full days of planning and studying, they set foot towards the desert. The map hadn’t been too precise when he saw it for the first time, but it seemed like the Dovahkiin had added a lot of detail to it.

He was starting to wonder where she had gotten an unfinished map from. It could have been Hermaeus Mora as part of their deal, but it was hard to tell for sure, especially with the way the Dragonborn seemed to have connections to informants all over Skyrim helping her.

As the sky began to darken, they stopped near the remains of a destroyed building to set up camp. Apparently, Miraak had implicitly been assigned the task of preparing food for the three of them that night.

“It can’t be that hard,” the Dovahkiin argued after he protested, her focus on spreading out pelts in her tent.

As he opened his mouth to answer, she turned around with an index finger pointing at him. “Your contribution to the group needs to be more than merely swiping enemies off the floor when needed, and it’s time you remember how to cook—for your own good as well.”

Her urging tone sparked irritation in him. “I believe my contribution to the group has been greater than you think.” He crossed his arms, his stance broad. Her eyes widened with impatience.

She clearly seemed to have forgotten their endless spars that she required to stay sane. And, of course, the training in magic that she received from him.

Her hands grabbed his mask, yanking it away from him. His expression promptly turned sour.

“Let me look into your damned eyes for once,” she then growled, stepping even closer.

He narrowed his eyes at her, not moving from his spot.

The benefit of his mask’s enchantment and familiarity had made him put it back on, as he figured that Hermaeus Mora’s deal with the Dragonborn bound his eyes towards them anyways.

“They’re turning black again,” the Last then said, her tone calming down as she studied his face. Her own eyes were still glowing, even though her expression wasn’t one of anger or surprise.

A sweet scent of flowers and honey kissed his nose, and he fought the temptation to breathe in further. It must have been her soap.

“Yes,” Callisto then purred, the corner of her lip slightly turning upwards. “Imagine being able to smell the food you’re cooking without the scent being filtered by literal Oblivion.”

Her eyes slowly roamed down to his lips and stopped for the shortest moment.

What—

She casually patted his shoulder, dropping his mask on the pelts as she walked out of the tent.

He felt it was a bit of an overkill to try and seduce him just to get him to cook dinner for once. Miraak shook his head in bewilderment.

* * *

The air seemed to get infinitely hotter the further they reached into the desert, and it coated Miraak’s skin with sweat. Their surroundings had gradually turned into mere sand and thorny bushes sheltered by rocks, with the occasional palm tree being visible in the distance somewhere.

After going through multiple spread out villages and settlements, the group arrived in a rather big city, protected by tall walls of sandstone scraping at the sky. The daylight had faded quickly, albeit later than in Skyrim. Torches were lit in the many fields preceding the city boundaries, and Miraak noticed more and more guards patrolling on horses among them.

They met little resistance at the entrance; the Dragonborn’s redhaired and thus foreign charm seemed to work wonders with these folks, and Miraak shook his head at how easy it was for her to use her femineity to haggle their way in for free.

Keeping their horses’ speed at a slow trot, Miraak took the opportunity to study their surroundings and observe the people’s mannerisms as much as he could; there surely were fewer drunkards around, especially for that time of the evening, but he noticed more than a handful of beggars sitting next to wells and shop entrances.

The warmth of the metal on his shoulders and gloves was starting to be more noticeable with every cool night breeze that hit his face instead.

Miraak’s mask dangled from the saddle of his horse—it seemed to calm the Dovahkiin’s big eyes every time she glanced at him.

Reaching a rather expensive inn by the river, they left their horses in the small stable at its entrance. The plan was to move along the next day, gather information from every possible source inside the city walls and debrief every evening.

Miraak joined Callisto on her table in the corner, even though he didn’t bring any drink for her to indulge in. She looked up at him, clearly displeased at the lack of mead.

“I didn’t take you for the wine type of girl,” he defended himself.

“I am not,” mumbled the Last in contempt. She looked over to their companion, whose apparent goal for the night seemed to be to talk to as many women as possible.

“He’s not looking to take any of them to bed,” the Dovahkiin said, “in case you thought that.”

No, he wasn’t; the whole ride to through the hellish desert the Dunmer had stayed silent, with the only sentence he uttered having been a question about Serana. It seemed to be his concern even more than Callisto’s, and Miraak supposed it was useful that he felt that way.

“I heard they have whisky around here, if you ask nicely,” the former dragon priest mentioned, wanting a change from the topic.

The Dragonborn’s eyes immediately widened with peaked interest.

Her chair screeched as her legs pushed it back and she hurried towards the bar keeper. Callisto came back but a few moments later, discarding her empty coin purse on the table before drinking out of her rather big bottle.

“I presume we have more coins somewhere that isn’t that specific purse.” Miraak’s finger pointed at the deflated leather.

She spilled some of the bottle’s contents on her chest as her lips parted from its neck. “No need to worry about coins, Miraak.” Her tone was quite confident.

Knowing her morals in that regard, she was probably going to alleviate some victims of the weight of their own coin purses whenever needed or desired by her.

Feeling exhaustion and the urge for a bath creep up on him, Miraak decided to retire to his room for the night.

As he stripped down, he noticed how truly dirty his robes were. His eyes studied the scratches on the metallic plates, followed by his fingers caressing them.

Despite their filthy state, he folded them neatly before entering the bath tub. He was grateful for the extra coins Callisto had spent on having one prepared and he closed his eyes with a big sigh of satisfaction.

His mind wandered off to thoughts of his fight against Vahlok—perhaps, some of the dirt on his robes right there was as ancient as his memory?

Scenes of his temple flashed across his imagination. Slaves, hammering and refining decorations into stone.

Dragon bones—the blast of colours reaching his body as he absorbed power.

Yellow, foreign eyes appearing in front of him in a bubble of blackish green.

“You will be either a worthy opponent or his successor, as the tides of fate decree.” Mora’s voice made his blood boil, especially with his distinctively slow way of talking.

…whose successor?

Something tumbled against the door, as if someone had dropped a heavy burden in front of it.

Miraak opened his eyes, struggling to remember the past few minutes of his thoughts.

“Dovahkiin!” someone chanted off-tune. It was a very familiar voice.

“Let me be,” Miraak warned, accenting each word with a short pause. He was determined not to let anything abort his chance of peace, especially not the Dragonborn in her common drunkenness. He splashed some of the hot water in his face to distract himself.

The door banged open, and for a very short moment, Miraak was rather amazed by the very brief amount of time needed to pick the lock and how much force was used to slam open the door anyway.

He slowly blinked multiple times as he observed the Dragonborn stumbling and falling to the floor, cackling at herself as she rolled onto her back and raised her legs in the air.

She didn’t seem to have noticed him whatsoever, another thing that baffled him.

“Where are you? Oh, you’re having a bath? That’s great because you smelled terribly.” Her words were a big clash of slurring and exaggerated tones to the point it required a lot of mental deciphering to be able to understand her.

Miraak wondered why he survived thousands of years closed off in another dimension just to end up in that exact situation right there.

She was barely visible on the ground from his point of view. “Ah, just how much have you had to drink?” he asked, unmoving.

The Dragonborn managed to make her way back onto her feet, holding onto the edge of the bath tub. “You think I keep track of that?” she asked, suddenly serious.

“And what is it that is so urgent you require my attention in the middle of a bath?”

As if his question had been an invitation, her eyes roamed down his body and stopped at the height of the water reaching his chest muscles before shooting back up to meet his.

“I told you we were going to have a briefing, but you clearly aren’t ready yet,” she said, her slur being rather well-masked.

Miraak huffed. “And you planned on having a discussion while drunk?” He shook his head at her irresponsibility.

She merely turned around, promptly stumbling on her own feet again before landing back on the floor with a hard thud. She groaned in pain.

This same person had broken in a locked door like it was made of paper just a few instances ago.

Water ran down his body as Miraak stood up with a light splash and reached for a towel to wrap his hips in. He walked over to her, watching her struggle to keep balance even on all fours. He lowered himself down next to her.

Callisto turned around, rolling onto her back once again. She looked at his face with clear difficulty to focus on anything for longer than a heartbeat’s length, a strong contrast to how fine she was doing during their short conversation.

Two slim fingers reached up to his cheek, resting on his skin. “Your face is clean again,” she mumbled happily.

“It just so happens to have been washed a very short moment ago,” Miraak answered, gaining a light laugh from her.

She looked rather endearing with her rose cheeks. Too bad her behaviour was anything but charming.

He stood up, offering her an arm to pull herself back up with.

“Ugh, you’re all wet,” she complained after, brushing off the few droplets of water that had gathered on her own arm.

Miraak merely crossed his arms at her, waiting for her to get the idea to leave.

“Right—I was on my way,” she said, turning around with an exaggerated wobble before grabbing hold of the doorframe.

“Good,” Miraak said before she stepped out. “I was starting to think you had plans of joining me.”

“Keep your dreams to yourself, you desperate pervert.”

* * *

Something blinded her sore eyes, making it unpleasant to open them any further. Callisto rolled off her bed, instantly tripping over someone’s sleeping body. Her head spun as she tried to focus on making out who it was.

“Teldryn,” she groaned, rubbing her elbow. Why it was hurting so much, she couldn’t tell; her landing had been rather smooth.

Her Dunmeri friend raised his head to glance at her in confusion.

“By Sheogorath’s beard,” he started, “I don’t think I have ever slept this badly.”—he massaged his forehead—”You look horrible, by the way.”

Callisto moaned again. “Thanks, pal.”

She got up to her feet, walking over to where her armour was scattered in pieces all over the floor.

“Wait,” she gasped. “Why are you sleeping on my floor?”

“I-I don’t think whatever you’re thinking right now happened last night.”

No way—she wasn’t this needy.

Faint memories of talking to Miraak wearing nothing but a towel around his hips fluttered through her mind.

“Miraak,” she hissed. Her hands landed on her mouth.

“Right, you were complaining about him being wet last night,” Teldryn laughed, promptly cringing in pain. He was probably as hungover as she was.

Her armour was left on the floor. She ran out of her room, reaching Miraak’s door as fast as possible.

He was sitting on his bed, putting on his golden boots.

“What did I do here last night?”

Miraak sat up and adjusted the belt on his robes. “We did not have a briefing.”

That wasn’t reassuring whatsoever.

“But I do think it is about time we do,” he then said, walking past her.

As they made their way back to her room, they met Teldryn in the hallway. He was holding a small sheet of paper.

Apparently, someone had left a note on the inside of her door. Questions started arising in her brain, but when she read the words, she merely had the capacity to blink in confusion.

“Someone wants to help us,” Teldryn said in a sarcastic tone. “It is most likely a trap.”

“It mentions Serana is being held somewhere,” Callisto growled.

After a long discussion about whether or not to trust the intel, Callisto decided to go after the named location. It took them the entire day to forge a concrete plan of tasks. It wasn’t hard to communicate with each other, but the different levels of suspicion about who had written that note made outlining everyone’s mission very difficult.

When the full moon had reached its highest point in the sky, the team snuck their way out with disguises. Callisto had bought a bunch of local clothing that made it easy to hide their identities without being too unsafe to fight in. Even at night, the bandages holding her chest in place were making her feel uncomfortable with sweat.

She regretted not having taken a bath the previous night.

There was a rather large river running through the centre of the city, and it was a nice soundscape to muffle their steps as they clung to wall after wall, sneaking through the tight alleyways of sandstone buildings.

Without her armour, every scratchy surface pulled on Callisto’s skin, but it was considerably easier to move through narrow places this way.

It was surprisingly fun to duck and crawl underneath open window blinds; some people were up to rather ominous things in their home at this time.

A large pyramid-like building towered over the other buildings, the top windows of it being lit by torches. Callisto pointed at it with two fingers, gaining a strong nod from both her teammates.

There were some people walking around, but most of them stayed on the main road that was getting further and further away from the group’s path. The Dragonborn was thankful for the lack of guards patrolling these types of alleys.

Something pinched her foot, and Callisto bit back a loud groan of pain. It alarmed the others, making them stop immediately.

Her foot shot up, revealing some sort of large insect grasping onto her skin. One of her hands pulled it off—no amount of self-control could have made anyone keep silent at that point—and threw it into the river nearby with a soft plunge.

As Callisto tried to inspect her wound, she promptly lost balance, leaning against a wall to prevent falling.

Someone’s steps hurried towards her, steadying her by her shoulders. Everything became blurry to the point it made her lose her sense of direction.

“Easy now,” they whispered, guiding her to lie down on the warm sandstone.

The noise of a potion bottle being opened made her feel more at ease; her companions probably brought something to cure poison. It got poured onto her mouth with care, and she mustered just enough strength to swallow it.

A distant bang of thu’um hit her ears, albeit muffled.

She gave in to sleep.

* * *

He gave up on trying to rest for the night. His weary feet dragged him to his window and he observed the moon as he reflected on what do to next. He rang the little bell on his night stand and immediately heard the door open.

“Yes?” his guard said, looking at him as he awaited his command.

“Ready some spies,” he spoke, rubbing his eyes with exhaustion. “I want to know everything and everyone she cares about.”

The guard nodded curtly. “Of course.” He closed the door behind him again.

The urge to torture his prisoner stung him deep in his mind; he wanted to watch her scream and suffer in agony.

He shook his head in frustration, kneeling to the floor with a loud sigh.

* * *

“The Dovahkiin, a legend belonging to Skyrim,” spoke someone. “A beautiful story, even if such tragedy shall govern it.”

The Dragonborn froze, instinctively swallowing at the unexpected sound. Strong light crept onto the walls surrounding her. Her heartbeat sped up.

She turned around to meet a Redguard’s gaze, a torch casting a sharp contrast defining the features of his face.

His expression was mostly hidden by a sand-coated cloth covering the lower half of his face; his dark eyes and thick eyebrows were the only thing visible—well, after getting used to reading Miraak’s expressions behind a completely masked face, this wasn’t too hard to work with for her.

“And who do you tell people you are?” Callisto stood up, brushing sand off her leg while hiding the difficulty her bound hands were giving her.

One person knowing her identity might have been enough to compromise her plan, but she figured she could kill him if needed.

The man chuckled at her question and the sound made her gag out loud shortly.

“I presume you are thinking about your friend,” he then said after taking a deep breath for a mere ego-boosting dramatic effect.

—Miraak?

Callisto’s mind drifted off to him violently rolling in the mud, trying to suffocate the flames of her merciless thu’um.

Her anger intensified at the thought of having to make her way out of the cell, the prison, the city, then find her team before being even able to continue with her original plan. Of course, some complications had been taken into account before even leaving Skyrim, but none had been of this size.

“But I will not grant you the luxury of showing you where he is just yet.” With that, he casually stepped back, his eyes narrowing in a presumed smile for a second before he walked away.

Callisto turned to look around her rather small cell. Her eyes landed on a darker shadow in the corner, so she moved closer.

Miraak was sitting there, undisturbed by her light gasp. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be meditating—of course. His hands were bound, just like hers.

“You’re in here with me?” She noticed her voice was trembling.

One of his eyes opened up to glance at her. “So it appears.” He stood up and rolled his shoulders.

Callisto felt something sting her insides; it was a mixture of gratitude and happiness that Miraak was still alive and with her.

That also meant that the person had been talking about Teldryn.

“You heard of Teldryn?” she asked.

“I presume he was able to escape. Either that or he was taken to another cell,” Miraak replied matter-of-factly. He started trying to shrug off the leather restricting his wrists.

The smell of rot bit Callisto’s nose the second she took a deep breath, so she decided to stop breathing for a short moment.

She diverted her focus to helping Miraak instead, her fingers slowly crawling under his shackles and trying to give him enough room to slip out.

Miraak stopped moving.

“What’s wrong?” Callisto asked.

“You are trying to help me get free while your own hands are bound.”

Her eyes glanced at her wrists before she blinked at him. “So what? You have less experience getting out of shackles than I have,” she lied.

Miraak huffed in response.

He started rubbing his hands together again, putting her in the uncomfortable position of having to move along as her fingers got more and more stuck in the leather.

“Slowly, now!” she bawled in pain.

“Shush,” he hissed. “Stand still, I will burn it off.”

Before her brain registered what he had said, light erupted from his palm, immediately plunging onto the leather and gnawing on it.

Callisto screamed. As she jumped back instinctively, she bumped into the wall behind her with a hard thud as her momentum rolled out of control. She rubbed the back of her head and grimaced at Miraak, who had casually been brushing ashes off his robes.

“I would have preferred a sooner warning,” she nagged.

He stepped closer, igniting another flame in his hand to free her of her own shackles, presumably to apologise.

She rubbed her sore wrists. “What’s next?”

“We wait till a guard with keys comes by and kill them.”

Sounded easy enough.

* * *

It was hard to focus on his own meditation whenever the Dragonborn got distracted in the middle of hers.

“Concentrate,” he impatiently reminded her, not opening his eyes. He could feel her glare on him nonetheless.

“I am done trying,” she simply said.

He felt her head dropping onto his thigh and peaked down at her, appalled by her audacity.

“You’re crossing your boundaries, Dovahkiin,” he growled.

She snorted, though her facial expression was bored. “You are in a bad mood, aren’t you?”

No—he simply couldn’t be bothered to indulge her provocation in that moment. Instead, he took a deep breath and focused on meditating again.

* * *

It turned out to be a rather easy task to escape the prison together once they had succeeded with Miraak’s plan. Anyone who encountered them seemed to be alone or with only one or two partners that were quickly taken care of by the Dragonborn’s thu’um, which Miraak fondly observed.

The fact that no one had taken heavier measures against them fighting their way out besides mild bondage and a cage felt too odd to be true; Miraak grew sceptical of the whole charade, figuring there must have been a second thought behind it all.

But his power was dwindling more and more with dehydration stiffening up his movements, so he focused on his escape more than on the reason for it—at least for the moment.

Once they reached the outside, the sun’s intensity immediately roasted his skin. He missed his mask, no matter how hot it became in there and how much the Last’s eyes lit up at the sight of his bare face.

“Where in Oblivion are we?” the Dragonborn said, squinting as she looked around with her hand above her eyebrows.

“I know as little as you do, Dovahkiin,” Miraak informed.

They walked over endless dunes until they found the first wall of sandstone. There was a light cavity in it that seemed to have been created by erosion over time, alluringly offering shade.

“We need water before we can rest,” he noted out loud, gaining a sigh from his partner.

“I am sick of being out of luck,” Callisto complained. “I doubt we will die in one night with no water,” she then added, walking towards the cave with determined steps.

Miraak followed her, shaking his head.

As the sun had set, the comfortable temperature had quickly turned into a biting yet somehow comforting cold; it seemed to be a tease of Skyrim’s climate, and he longed for the feeling of snow on his skin.

Callisto crawled closer to him, the two of them sharing their body heat back to back.

“We should try to reach the city first thing tomorrow,” she said.

Miraak hummed back in response, too tired to speak.

He wondered how long the mission would take them. How long till he would see Skyrim’s tundra again? If he was going to, of course.

“And then we will look for Teldryn,” Callisto continued.

Miraak merely nodded, even if she couldn’t perceive it.

He imagined cupping his hands to pick up some water from an ice-cold stream flowing through rocks and lush grass.

“Before finding Serana,” the Dovahkiin added.

He ignored her.

The desire for some mead crawled into his mind; mead in front of a nice fire pla—

“And then getting to our ship.”

“Sleep,” Miraak barked.

“I apologise,” she mumbled.

* * *

“I wonder if I could summon Odahviing here,” the Dragonborn wondered out loud. “Or maybe even Durnehviir?”

“Yes, we shall sneakily fly into the city so that nobody will be able to figure out that we are the two Dragonborn that have recently escaped from their prison cell,” Miraak rebuffed, shaking his head.

“At this point, I will take anything that isn’t walking through an entire desert with no water or proper clothing.”

It seemed strange to notice how much her will withered with every drawback. It reminded Miraak too much of himself in Apocrypha, and it stung him.

“Callisto,” he started, waiting for her to pause. “This is not the hardest challenge you have had to face, you know.”

She tilted her head, blinking at him as she contemplated his message. “I suppose it is not,” she spoke, her voice barely audible from the short distance she stood from him.

A rhythmic noise dully echoed across the dunes, and Miraak looked around to figure out the source. It seemed to be people riding on horses at a fast pace.

“Come with me,” he ordered, running towards where the horses were headed. The Dragonborn silently obeyed.

Miraak shot a fireball towards them without directly hitting their horses to make them stop.

The men seemed to be guards of some sort, escorting a noblewoman back to the city the Dragonborn were trying to get back to. Miraak’s magic was no match for these swordsmen, and it didn’t take long till merely their horses and the woman were left, due to Callisto stopping him from shooting a lightning bolt at her.

The woman stayed calm throughout the entire time, which surprised him.

Callisto immediately snatched a flask of water from one of the guard’s belts and gulped it down in a rather animalistic manner.

“I presume you will take on their role in order to get in easily?” the noblewoman then spoke.

“You don’t even know who we are,” Callisto answered in a bitter tone, putting on the armour of one of the dead men. She raised an eyebrow at Miraak for hesitating to do the same.

He grunted. She was right, but leaving his robes in the middle of nowhere just didn’t feel right. He ignored the stranger’s enthralled stare at his body while changing and handed his robes to her. “Hold onto these and you I won’t kill you.”

She huffed but cooperated nonetheless.

The woman’s horse had a map in one of its satchels, indicating the route and direction towards the city. The guards had gone about half of the way through the desert, and according to the noblewoman, it had taken them a few hours.

They rode most of the way in silence, with Miraak merely asking for the flask once. In front of the city gates, they simply rode past the guards with a nod, not raising suspicion about the missing guard they had left to rot in the desert.

“What will happen to me now? Do you want money or are you just going to kill and rob me like those guards?” the woman asked once they rode further into the city.

“If we had wanted to kill you, you wouldn’t be alive right now,” Callisto answered.

Miraak frowned.

“But we will take the payment you had ready for the other guards, since we have merely finished their job,” Miraak told the woman, walking closer and waiting for her to drop her coins into the palm of his hand.

“This was a rather bizarre experience, but I appreciate you letting me live.” She gave Miraak his robes, placing a coin purse on top.

“You better not tell anyone anything bizarre happened,” Callisto warned with a lower tone, “because I will find out, and you will die.”

Callisto shoved her out of the alleyway, and the woman frowned at them for a second before turning to leave.

It felt wrong; too much like it was a missed opportunity to get information. Why was she sparing her life to begin with?

“It’s a risk we’ll have to take,” Callisto said on their way back to the inn.

“We had the chance to interrogate her,” Miraak remarked.

“Yes, but it also would have given away our identities,” the Dragonborn replied.

Her sneaky way of doing things bothered him in moments like these; her strategy seemed too cautious sometimes, as if scared of confrontation. But she should have been ready to kill, to assert her dominance over everyone who dared to challenge her, like he did.

The inconsistency in her behaviour wasn’t lost on him, though. The Last Dragonborn picked her fights rather carefully, like some situations had to be avoided as if dictated.

“What are you hiding, Dovahkiin?” Miraak asked after walking into her room.

She had been in the middle of washing her face; she turned around to scowl at him before she grabbed a towel to dry off. She threw it onto the floor with force, walking towards him.

“And what would I be hiding, now?” she asked, her expression full of anger at his accusation.

“You know we could easily have killed that woman in the desert,” Miraak then said. “What stopped you from doing so?”

“You clearly don’t understand”—she stomped even closer and poked him in the chest as usual—“what it’s like to have to consider your actions in order not to get your companions killed, since you clearly don’t care about anyone’s life other than yours,” she hissed.

Of course, he wasn’t going to pretend he felt as upset at Serana’s or Teldryn’s disappearance as she did, but he knew for sure he would have felt differently had it been the Dragonborn’s, mostly due to her power simply being necessary in order to confront Hermaeus Mora once the relic was in sight.

“I care about your life,” he replied, his tone calm.

She merely raised her eyebrows incredulously.

“What makes you think that I don’t?” he asked.

“You tortured people and almost enslaved an entire island and expect me to believe you have the ability to cherish someone?”

None of this made sense to him—did he need to care about anyone else in order to be useful to her plan?

An image of people working on stone with bound hands lit up in his mind like a distant memory of a dream. Miraak shook his head.

“My past isn’t relevant whatsoever.”

“Oh, but it surely tells a lot about you,” she spat back.

“You know exactly why I have to make sure you don’t die,” Miraak then said. “I know Mora well enough to know why we are walking on Nirn right now.” He waited for her reaction with focus.

She narrowed her eyes at him, raising her chin as she contemplated his implication.

After a short moment, Callisto heavily sighed. She shook her head and looked to the side.

Yes, she was going to tell him every detail about her idiotic deal.

“I freed you because I felt like you could be redeemed,” she started. “But it wasn’t easy to find a way.”

“You haven’t learned a thing, have you?” he hissed.

“There is a way we can li—"

“How?” he yelled, leaning towards her. “Do you truly believe this Daedric prince will keep up his part of the bargain? Trust me, I have fallen for his false promises first-hand.”

“I know you have.” Her voice had turned into a mere murmur, but her determined eyes focused on his.

“And you really tried to make me think I was going to be master of my own fate again,” Miraak said, lowering his voice as well. He rubbed his face with one hand.

“That is not an impossibility, Miraak.”

He shook his head and walked away from her.

“I need you to trust me,” the Dovahkiin then said, trying to catch up to him. “The two of us together are stronger than you think.”

“You are naïve to think it will matter,” Miraak growled, turning to glare at her.

“Your only experience against Mora was one on your own. With the whole team, we stand a much better chance.”

Her ambition sparked irritation in him; she was too arrogant to realise that it was not going to work out as planned—again, an experience he had had himself, as well.

“You don’t even know what the relic is and you already think to know what to do with it,” Miraak said.

She sighed.

“You should rest,” Callisto then spoke, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Take some time to think about it.”

* * *

Miraak woke up in the dark with discomfort. He stumbled on something on his way to the wash basin, ignoring the pain in his toe. As he dried off his face, he noticed the Dovahkiin leaning on his doorframe, her silhouette being a strong contrast to the well-lid corridor wall behind her. Her hand was on her hip and she seemed to be smiling.

“Meditation before sparring?” she asked casually.

He couldn’t believe how childish she was, behaving like nothing had happened.

“Leave,” Miraak growled, walking over to his robes.

“It might help you process things, in your own spoken words.” She walked towards him.

Miraak stopped her with his arm, glowering at her confused eyes. “I have learned you are not trustworthy.”

“I opened up to you,” Callisto argued, pushing his arm aside. She put a hand on his forehead.

“That is not going to fix the situation, Dovahkiin.” He coughed, pain rising from his chest towards his head. He grimaced and massaged his temples with irritation.

“Are you alright?” the Dragonborn then asked.

Miraak looked at her and noticed how much his balance was dwindling. One of her hands landed on his chest while the other grabbed his shoulder as he almost fell onto her.

“Wow, you look like shit,” she noted, guiding him back towards his bed.

As he lay down, he noticed how wet his mattress was.

“I will find out what you need. Just stay here for now and relax,” the Dragonborn calmly said with before leaving.

His head felt like it was filled with rocks, and his vision shook heavily every time he moved too fast. A few weak restoration spells helped cure the symptoms, but his magicka was recovering very slowly.

He decided to give in to his strong urge to sleep.

* * *

A particularly thick thorn on one of the spiky bushes stung her, causing a drop of blood to run down her finger, disappearing in her leather armband. Callisto cursed inwardly. She merely needed one more flower to cross out of her ingredients list.

She felt some grains of sand touch her bare ankle and turned around to ready herself for an attack. A dagger flew at her, and she blinked at it once as it hit the ground next to her foot before she launched herself at her opponent.

They grunted when she slashed her own dagger into his shoulder. The blood stained the cloth forming his hood in mere seconds and sprayed onto her face and chest.

Callisto jumped back, shielding herself with her arms from another blow her opponent threw at her with a grunt. Her thu’um knocked her enemy back, causing him to slam into a dusty wall of rocks with a sharp yell of pain that soon got muffled by the sand as he rolled to the floor.

Callisto approached the hooded person slowly, stopping his attempt at grabbing a second dagger by putting her foot on his hand.

“Now what kind of excuse for a fight was that?” she sneered.

No answer. She watched him struggle to free himself of her grip in vain. She kneeled down to move the linen wrapped around his bony face.

It was a young man with scars running completely over his cheeks. Callisto narrowed her eyes in confusion a second before she felt the brush of air hit her from behind, kicking up more dust that ended up whirling up into her face.

She turned around gasping, trying to evade the incoming…chain?

Her attacker, most likely a companion of the fellow she had just slain, managed to get it around her neck and tightened it to pull her back towards him. The Dragonborn choked, her eyes wide with shock as to how she hadn’t heard the second man coming. Her fists tore on the metallic braid on her throat, trying to loosen it up just enough for her to catch a single breath.

The chains vibrated and hummed and she felt her energy decreasing as if she hadn’t slept in days. Her heartbeat increased in speed, mostly because of panic and confusion.

The man overwhelmed her with sheer force as he launched himself down to the ground. Callisto was trapped underneath him, yelling out the last bit of air her lungs had tried to keep in. Her fingers shakingly formed a fist around the sand in front of her and she threw it in the general direction of the man’s face.

She felt him dodge the grains backwards, giving her a short moment to take in a deep breath of air, albeit dusty and painful to her lungs. The tightness of his chain dwindled lightly until she shook it off completely with wild movements.

The Dragonborn spun around, her legs straddling the man as she stabbed one of his hands into the sand with her dagger. She threw precise punches at his nose, grasping his other hand with her free one. The man cried in pain with each hit, his limbs trying to shake free frantically. The blood running down from his nose got spat back at her.

Callisto stood up fast, jumping backwards as she threw her fiery thu’um at her opponent as he tried to collect himself enough to properly stand back up and whip his chain once again.

But instead, he flew backwards, shielding his face with his arm as the tongues of flames grasped his clothes, his hair, his skin. Once the explosion of fire had settled, Callisto pumped her legs to get closer to him and finish him off with a last sharp stab to his side.

She watched him roll on the ground to suffocate the fire eating him up. But she wouldn’t give him enough time for it to be actually useful.

With one last cry, she sliced his throat and watched his limbs drop into the sand.

* * *

The air around him turns to fog; it’s hard to make out whatever image is shaping itself in front of him.

His head begins to spin. He tries to stay focused on the ethereal appearance with difficulty.

A dragon—a group of people is with him, and they yell out a cry of war before charging with their weapons.

His balance becomes weak to the point he stumbles to the floor, but his eyes remain on the images—who are these people?

The colourful explosion of a dragon’s soul—

Cheers in the distance—

He gets up again, groaning with pain. It feels like a strong force is pulling him back towards the ground, but he resists—

“Dragonborn.” The voice echoes through his head.

Heat begins to embrace his limbs. His confusion doesn’t deter him from—

Hermaeus Mora? He sees Solstheim right there, in front of him, as beautiful as it has always been.

People working on books—

Miraak coughs out some blood onto the floor and the pain shooting through his throat is strong enough to make him yell. He lies there, shaking and biting back whimpers of weakness.

* * *

Miraak woke up from his fever dream with a loud gasp. He sat up, panting as he wiped off sweat from his brow. His fingers instinctively shot up towards his lips and he inspected them carefully.

Why did he just do that? He cleared his throat.

He heard someone unlock his door and turned around to see, his heartbeat still vigorous.

“I got attacked by two morons while I was busy looking for your medicine,” Callisto explained as she entered the room, not even looking at him. She beelined for the washing basin after putting the ingredients she had collected on their table and stripped off her bloody armour.

“How did they put up that big a fight?” Miraak asked, rubbing his eyes.

The young Dovahkiin turned around to scowl at him after splashing water in her face and wiping her arm with a rag.

He cleared his throat again. It didn’t hurt, to his surprise. Maybe he was recovering from his illness sooner than expected.

There was a bottle containing some orange-coloured drink he presumed to be alcohol on the table and Callisto grabbed it to gulp from it. “After finishing off one of them, the other sneaked up on me with a chain of some sorts”—her fingers shaped into a claw—“and it had an absorbing power. It felt like strong stamina-draining poison.” She drank more of the alcohol, finishing the few remains.

Callisto walked over to the table and started pestling her collected ingredients hurriedly before bringing him the finished potion.

Miraak held the mortar and grimaced. It felt strange to struggle with the easiest movements; the image of him being so physically vulnerable unsettled him, especially in front of the Dovahkiin.

“I assume you did your proper research on the efficacy of this?” he asked hesitatingly, mostly to delay its consumption.

The Last Dragonborn sighed. “What, now? Stop hesitating and drink up fast,” she urged.

“Callisto,” Miraak croaked after taking a few sips. She gave him an expectant look. He grunted lightly as he pushed himself forward with excessive effort. Her hand reached to his chest, lightly guiding him back onto the mattress.

He lay still, merely looking into her eyes. “Thank you,” he murmured, gaining a slight nod from her.

Miraak tried to calm his breath and focused on the sensation of the sweat coating his skin instead. It almost felt like he was struggling to return to his physical body. But even returning to Nirn hadn’t felt this bad.

Callisto stood up. “Get well soon, old man. Need you in top shape.”


	6. History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait; it is a short chapter, but I don't want to torture you guys by letting you wait for too long.
> 
> I swear I think about continuing this story non-stop.

The dragon lands on its large claws and the earth vibrates from the impact, urging birds in nearby trees to flee their nests and whirls of wind to blow up dust. He shields his eyes with an arm.

His thu’um stings the beast’s flesh and it shakes in pain with a loud growl vibrating through the air. With strong slashes of his blade, the dragon falls to the ground completely, giving in to weakness as it embraces its death. He awaits the power flowing into his body.

“Not this time, Dragonborn.”

He blinks.

“This one belongs to me,” Miraak speaks, right there in front of him.

What?

He looks at his hands in bewilderment.

His fingers aren’t gloved; they are thin and feminine, and his familiar scar on the palm of his hand is missing completely.

“Thank you for your help.”

He looks up, watching himself as he hears him speak.

“We shall meet again soon.”

His ethereal self disappears and leaves him on his own, confused in silence.

His eyes land back onto his hand, his fingers searching for the scar until resting still in the spot it has always been, where it is supposed to be.

* * *

“Callisto,” he coughed out, his eyes now wide open.

“Yes, yes.” She was sitting on the edge of his bed, reading a small book that lay on her lap. “Still here, just like I was during the last sixteen times you woke.” She accented the number with ridicule.

“No,” he replied in haste, promptly gaining a confused look from her. Miraak sat up, staring into her golden eyes. “I have seen your memories.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him before returning to her book. “I know that fever dreams do happen to be wild.”

“You misunderstand,” he then said, growing frustrated. He shifted closer, putting his hands on her shoulders. He ignored the cold air hitting his torso as his blanket dropped to his hips. “I saw myself stealing a dragon’s soul from you.”

Callisto bored expression didn’t change. “Oh, and which one of the plentiful times are you talking about?” Her tone had become one full of resentment. “I wonder if you also felt the way I did back then.”

“Yes, I did,” he answered. “You looked at your fingers and you searched for this scar”—he splayed his hand out in front of her—“and you felt confused, but it was impossible to tell why.”

Her eyes slowly widened as they analysed his scar with erratic movements, blinking fast. Miraak noticed how her breath sped up as she recognised more and more of her memory, and how his own heartbeat grew faster and faster, as if synchronised with hers. Finally, her eyes landed on his.

“Those visions…” she realised out loud, her voice a mere whisper.

Miraak blinked at her, not quite sure what she was referring to.

“When you slashed the tree—”

“Yes,” she interrupted.

“Tell me what you remember,” Miraak prompted, shifting closer to her.

“I-it is very vague,” she stuttered, seemingly overwhelmed. “I remember a man wearing robes and a mask similar to yours, but not as…distorted. It reminded me more of the dragon priests’ I have encountered on Solstheim.”

Miraak raised his chin as he contemplated her answer. Yes, they had been seeing each other’s memories. He wondered if she was going to remember events that had long since escaped his own mind.

The nature of this happening seemed foreign yet simple to understand—they shared the destiny of having the soul of a dragon being born in the body of a mere human, of being the strongest being to walk the earth. Being a descendant of Akatosh must have caused a different perception of time, a privileged bond destined solely to the Dragonborn.

“We can use this to our advantage,” he murmured more to himself than anyone.

As the Dragonborn’s expression turned into one of confusion once again, he chuckled. His hand cupped her jaw, and the tips of her fingers quickly landed on top of his, her eyes staring at him.

“You do become more interesting every time I learn more about you,” she finally said, the hint of a smile forming on her lips once she understood.

“And you also enjoy supporting your own self-worth on the fact that we share souls,” he then joked, gaining a light laugh from her.

* * *

“I have a plan,” Callisto spoke as they walked along narrow ways of the town. They had gathered a proper disguise, mostly covering their hair and faces with cloth.

“I trust you do,” Miraak merely said.

They weren’t going to discuss private things in public, so the Last had arranged an adequate location, far from prying ears and eyes: the most expensive brothel in town, amongst all of them. Her research on its owner had led her to its high status, mostly known due to high confidentiality of the people involved. Furthermore, it wasn’t required to rent a room with a courtesan, which was the most crucial point.

Callisto noticed how Miraak didn’t question her even after they had arrived in front of the building, and she appreciated his efforts in keeping his judgemental mouth shut for once.

Upon entering, they got greeted by a plump woman with the most beautiful face Callisto had ever seen, and she supressed the urge to stare at her for too long. She must have been some goddess, and Callisto wondered how much power she had over people just because of her beauty.

“I shall guide you to your private room right away,” the woman spoke after a heavy coin purse had gotten dropped onto her reception desk.

Once the door had been closed behind them, Callisto noticed the massive bed in the centre of the opposite wall. The room seemed as luxurious as expected, with lush decorations garnishing every spot on the walls.

It also appeared rather suffocating—but, the more things to dampen the noise, the better.

She walked over to the drawer in the corner. After shoving aside some candles, she emptied her bag on it.

Miraak sat down on the bed, watching her. “Tell me about your plan.”

“We need to go back to where they kept us,” Callisto started, her voice low.

She had the intent of mostly speaking in vague terms, just in case. She expected Miraak’s understanding of whatever she was going to say to be immaculate, anyway.

Her hands grabbed one of her books and a rolled-up map before sitting down next to him, barely making the bed wobble.

“Someone is waiting for me,” she started, leaning into him slightly, “or maybe even for us both, I presume. It was ambiguous, but that is not going to be a problem.”

Miraak’s eyebrows creased and he crossed his arms at her, one palm turning upwards. “And where did you figure this out?”

Someone walked past their door with light steps. Callisto stood up and lowered the thick curtain in front of it to add another layer of dampening.

“The people who brought us there the first time are helping us,” she merely said as she walked towards the bed again, stopping in front of his knees.

When he raised his chin with curiosity, she continued, “It seems rather odd that they had allowed us to stay paired, do you not agree?”

“Perhaps your companion just wasn’t good enough to be considered as big of a threat as we were?”

Callisto laughed lightly. “Ah, but no one could ever hope to be.”

He smirked in approval—as expected whenever someone polished his pride.

“I have marked relevant locations on there.” She nodded towards her map.

This time, Miraak inspected the paper, and she commended herself for having been able to change his attitude in that regard, even if it was merely a tiny victory.

“One of these seems particularly interesting,” the First Dragonborn noticed out loud, keeping his voice down. He pointed at it with his finger and she recognised it from afar.

More steps resonated across the hallway outside, prompting Callisto to moan out loud once with the interest of staying as unsuspicious as possible.

Miraak shot her an empty stare before returning his eyes to the map. She snorted lightly at his reaction.

“I noted down useful information in there regarding that one,” she murmured, pointing towards her book. She sat down next to him again. “The layout matches some of the corridors we went through, but the descriptions of the guards’ armour that I could gather seemed a bit off compared to what I can recall.”

She studied Miraak’s pensive profile before pointing towards another location on the map. “This one, however, seems to be the most promising match,” she stated.

His eyes roamed down to where her finger had landed.

“A museum?” Miraak wondered out loud.

“This is weeks’ worth of work—and it is accurate,” the young Dovahkiin defended.

“I am not questioning your credibility, Callisto,” Miraak explained, his voice still calm. “It is merely unusual to see that whoever challenged us not only seems to have strength, but brains as well.”

“I doubt they would have been able to temporarily overpower us if they weren’t smart,” Callisto agreed. “Although yes, it is a good hiding spot.”

“I presume you have also figured out a way for us to get in without raising suspicion in case you are wrong,” he then stated.

She blinked at him. “No, actually.” Her finger landed on her chin as she looked aside, trying to seem as convincing as possible.

Miraak laughed out loud, looking through her joke right away.

Callisto’s finger then landed on his lips as she hushed him. “I am not sure how common it is for men to laugh loudly at a brothel—while sober,” she then said.

He softly pushed away her finger and his smirk grew wider. “You clearly don’t know men well at all, then.”

“Ah, the ones I do need to know well I know quite sufficiently.”

“One might say that sharing the fate of having a dragon’s soul is a helpful asset in that regard.”

“It most certainly is!” the younger Dovahkiin merrily answered. She tapped his cheek with her finger twice before getting up. “I shall arrange adequate clothing and weapons this evening.” She packed away her map and book before turning towards Miraak again, waiting.

He walked up to her and harshly ruffled her hair wordlessly.

“What in Oblivion do you think you’re doing?” she exclaimed, scowling at him while trying to comb her hair with her fingers.

“You appear too neat for someone who seems to care about giving a certain impression to outsiders in a brothel,” he answered matter-of-factly.

Callisto growled in annoyance, mostly because he was right. She started running on the spot, ignoring his growing amused expression.

Once she was decently sweaty and her cheeks seemed warm enough, she stopped.

“We hope you had a pleasant stay,” the receptionist said when the two Dragonborn walked past her.

Callisto ignored the wink the woman gave them.

* * *

The best location to start with was the museum, according to the both of them. Luckily, museums were rather easy to get into and the only difficulty would be sneaking into its undergrounds, but Callisto’s stealth abilities were most likely going to be sufficient.

Though Miraak was pondering on whether his own capability or lack thereof wasn’t going to be a rock attached to her ankle—he had never been one to favour being unnoticed, and just the sole idea of having to hide bothered him deeply.

Walking through the public layer of the museum in the thin mask covering the lower half of his face did give him a small sense of familiarity, at least.

“I have bribed someone,” the Dragonborn muttered to him after they stopped in front of some ancient warrior’s weapon.

“Ah, was it with their own money? Or did you once again promise sexual pleasures in return?” Miraak answered, amused at the idea.

She hummed softly. “I’ll leave it up to you to decide which one of those two options displeases you less.”

Miraak huffed in response, appalled by her presumption of jealousy.

She proceeded to lead him towards one of the guards standing at the entrance to a more secluded section, most likely holding more expensive and unique items.

The man exchanged a nod with the Dovahkiin and let them pass wordlessly.

They walked past a myriad of scrolls, books and staffs, all of them looking timeworn as expected. Miraak wondered if some of those works were from the time he had walked the earth. Perhaps, some of them even told the story of him?

Though he doubted it, since no man’s collection of any knowledge could surpass Hermaeus Mora’s.

He stopped in front of one shelf, nonetheless. A book about the origins of Dovahzul caught his eye in particular, and he reached out to grab it.

As his fingertips touched the book’s spine, Callisto’s strong hand grabbed him by the wrist.

“We have no time to waste,” she murmured into his ear.

He inhaled and turned to look at her, feeling patronised.

“Let’s go,” she then urged, her hand landing on his shoulder before she turned around and continued walking.

* * *

She opened her eyes, though it was hard to tell any difference from them being closed due to the overwhelming darkness.

Her ears picked up someone approaching her cell. Light coloured some of the walls surrounding her, growing in intensity.

Serana breathed. The guard stopped in front of her cell.

“Tell us where your friends are,” he growled, his voice dully echoing through the tight hall. “It will make this whole process less of a pain in the ass, for everyone involved.”

“I won’t tell you anything,” the vampire spat back. The chains keeping her hands attached to the wall rang as she shook.

“Your hands must feel pretty numb,” the guard then taunted. “Though I am not that familiar with vampires’ blood. Does it flow the same?”

Serana’s lip twitched upwards in annoyance.

“You know, no one will find you, no matter how hard they try.”

“I will enjoy sucking your blood until you’re too weak to even scream,” Serana said, her tone low.

The man laughed in response, shaking his head as he turned around to go back to where he had come from. Her eyes followed his shadow until it meddled with the darkness taking over the hall once again.

She was going to get out of there soon.

* * *

It took her an unusual amount of time to open the lock. Miraak crossed his arms and balanced his weight on one leg. “Are you out of shape?”

The young Dovahkiin’s eyes snapped onto his and she huffed aggressively.

“Miraak, If I had the time to punch you right now, I would,” she growled, turning back to fiddling with the lock.

“Perhaps you overestimated your skill and this is beyond your level.”

He mostly just wanted some entertainment, given how boring this day had been thus far.

The lock cracked open, and Callisto straightened her back as she stood up to full height again. She turned towards him with a blank expression.

“Perhaps I overestimated your skill to cease being bothersome for longer than a few minutes,” she then said, pushing his chest slightly. Miraak chuckled at her juvenile retaliation.

His heartbeat sped up. An odd feeling of irritation rushed through him, but it wasn’t his—it felt more like remembering a distant memory of an instance where he had felt annoyed.

“I can feel your frustration,” he commented as they began walking into the corridor behind the unlocked door.

“Can you feel my urge to slap you, as well?” She didn’t turn around.

“Yes.”

“How empathetic of you.”

Miraak’s smirk quickly vanished as the smell of mould struck his nose.

They walked down wooden stairs, the dust puffing up from the thin carpet with each step.

“It seems unusually easy to walk here,” Miraak commented after they had passed through a long, dark corridor. They hadn’t encountered anyone nor heard any movement besides their own, and it was starting to become suspicious.

“It only confirms my assumption that they’re helping us is right,” Callisto said.

Miraak felt a spark inside his stomach increase the further they walked.

“And what are they helping us with, precisely?” he asked.

“I think Serana’s kidnapping has something to do with the relic.”

“Well, aren’t we lucky?” Miraak then said sarcastically, stopping.

“You trusted me when we discussed this the first time, don’t stop now and sabotage my entire plan!” Callisto answered, turning around with angry eyes staring at him.

“Have you ever considered that it could just be a trap?” Miraak crossed his arms.

The Last Dragonborn sighed, her shoulders dropping.

As she started walking closer to him, he interrupted her, “You are letting your feelings for a friend get in the way of the sole reason we are allowed to walk on Nirn right now.”

“Miraak,” she hissed with clenched teeth, “you seriously want to talk this out right here, right now? If you had any doubts, why didn’t you tell me before we got here?”

He ignored her question. “Did Mora help you with this knowledge?”

She blinked at him, heavily taken aback. “Do you mistake him for a friend of mine?”

“Are you misreading the luck you are having with finding hints such as this location as sheer coincidence?”

“It does not matter where I found this information,” she spat, raising her voice. She scowled into his eyes. Miraak shook his head at her naivety.

“Do you believe we are strong enough to fight Hermaeus Mora at this precise moment?” he then murmured, clearly confusing her. She blinked as she reflected on why he asked her his question.

“No, because our strength is half of what it’s supposed to be,” she then said, not moving her eyes away from his.

“Yes”—he raised his chin—“we aren’t a threat to him at the moment.” He paused for a short moment. “So he will never help you with finding your companions.”

Callisto looked away, shaking her head.

“We won’t find Serana here and you know it,” Miraak concluded.

“Why do you think that Hermaeus lead us here? It would turn our help completely unnecessary,” she then argued, her eyes roaming his face.

“He knows where the relic is, or at least has more information on it than we do,” Miraak murmured. It must have been at least close; if he hadn’t known better, he would have trusted the feeling in his guts.

“This makes no sense—he would already have it!” she then said.

Miraak grabbed Callisto’s wrist, promptly gaining a hesitating shake from her. “We need to leave,” he warned.

“W-what?” she stuttered. “We can’t leave now!” she shouted.

Miraak pressed his other hand against her mouth and pushed her into the wall to make her quit squirming so violently. Her wide eyes bore into his with a menacing glare.

“Listen to your _Sil_ ,” Miraak hissed into her ear.

He moved his head back slightly watched her focus on her breathing. He felt a tinge of pride as her body slowly relaxed. Her eyes seemed to stare into the nothingness in front of her.

Yes, he could feel her dragon soul’s unrest just as much as his own.

Something was off with this place, and he was definitely going to trust his guts.

“He isn’t able to get it on his own, just like he required someone to gather the Skaal’s secrets for him,” Callisto then whispered.

“He freed us because he needs the both of us to get it for him, for a reason yet unknown to us,” Miraak added, loosening the pressure against her body by taking a step back.

The young Dragonborn sighed. “You are right. Let’s go.” She shook her head, still recovering.

* * *

She sat down on his bed and rubbed her eyes. “I need a million baths to get rid of all the dust that got onto me in there.”

“Take it in your own room,” Miraak said. “I need to meditate and think.”

“Let’s meditate together,” Callisto suggested, standing up with a light smile.

Miraak’s eyebrow jumped up. “It is unusual of you to show excitement towards meditation.”

It still surprised him to see how quickly her mood swapped from being annoyed to being excited. The Dragonborn was a true lunatic, it seemed.

“The way you felt your soul warn you before I did,” she started, “I have a lot to learn from you.”

If her lunacy made her respect him more, he wasn’t going to question it.

“You do.”

They proceeded to meditate sitting in front of each other, on the floor. He had to admit, her skill had improved immensely, and he felt their souls breathing in synchronisation soon.

“Give me your hands,” she suggested after a long moment of silence.

Miraak opened his eyes and observed her, slowly stretching out his hands towards her. She grabbed them, putting her fingers onto his open palms.

“Perhaps training to listen to each other’s _Sil_ will be useful,” she then explained, closing her eyes again and taking a deep breath.

Her idea was very interesting, so he hummed in accordance. Though she clearly lacked the skill to listen to her own soul very well. But maybe that was what motivated her to try to learn it together, with his guidance.

Breathe in, hold, breathe out, hold. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Hold.

Callisto twitched.

Miraak breathed in.

He held his breath.

He breathed out—pause.

He breathed in again.

A dull nail dug into his skin. Miraak shook his head and scowled at her. “Dragonborn,” he hissed.

Her eyes seemed restless. “I am not ready,” she breathed, suddenly agitated.

Miraak blinked at her. “You suggested we do this.”

“Yes. But I can feel your doubt,” she answered. “You believe I cannot control my own soul well enough yet.”

Impressive.

As he smirked, she seemed to calm down.

“I feel honoured you give such high importance to my opinion of you,” he then joked.

“I don’t,” she snapped, as expected. “I just know you too well. This won’t work if there is disparity between us in such a big way, you know.”

“I agree,” he said.

He stood up and offered her an arm, which she promptly ignored as she got up herself.

Miraak laughed, confusing her. “The first step might be to accept my help more willingly, don’t you agree?” he said.

Her expression returned to her natural bored stare. “Or, maybe, your first step is to stop seeing me as someone who needs help standing up.”

A good retaliation spawned in his mind, but for the sake of working towards a better relationship, he remained silent instead.

“Oh, by the way,” Callisto then said, her finger pointing upwards as her eyes widened. She walked over to where she had dropped her bag and pulled something out of it.

She handed him the book he had shown interest in at the museum with a smile. Miraak scoffed.

“I didn’t forget about it,” she said. Miraak took the book.

“Thanks,” he said, studying the cover. “I appreciate it.”

“See? Our relationship doesn’t need that much work!”


End file.
